


Seven Autumns With or Without You

by LadyTP



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Everything, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M, MCD at the end of long and happy life, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, long time affair, one mention of a past sexual abuse of a secondary OC, story of their lives and loves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27053419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTP/pseuds/LadyTP
Summary: Seven autumns, seven significant moments in the lives of Caleb Brewster and Benjamin Tallmadge. Their first kiss, their first night together, when they first have each other, conception of the pact to last a lifetime, their rendezvous' (one of many), their farewell, and finally, the epilogue of their life together – and beyond.AU of ‘Turn: Washington’s Spies’ covering the entity of Caleb and Ben’s relationship and the love that dare not speak its name.
Relationships: Caleb Brewster/Benjamin Tallmadge
Comments: 26
Kudos: 22
Collections: Turn of the Seasons: Fall 2020





	1. Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucyemers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers/gifts).



> And now for something completely different… This fic is the result of my recent deep-dive into the wonderful world of _“Turn: Washington’s Spies”_ , a TV-series (and a book by Alexander Rose) about the trials and tribulations, loves and hates, adventures and triumphs of a spy network operating during the American Revolution in 1770’s under General Washington. (Warmly recommended to anyone interested in a good quality TV drama!).
> 
> This fic is part of [Apfelessig's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apfelessig/pseuds/Apfelessig) ‘Turn of the Seasons: Fall 2020 Writing Prompt’ – so here comes! A few additional notes and warnings:  
> 
> 
>   * There is a mention of a past sexual abuse of a secondary OC in this first chapter, just past halfway
>   * This is tagged with ‘Major Character Death’ – but rest assured it is only related to a natural death after a long, happy life, not to anything ghoulish or unexpected
>   * This fic is purely based on the characters of the TV _show_ – not on the real persons on which the book and show are based on, the show itself already having taken liberties regarding them
> This work has been kindly betaed by the wonderful [Lucyemers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers), to whom I extend my most sincere thanks!


__

_“So, the first kiss, eh? Who’d have known?”_

_“Not me.”_

_“Knowing what I know now, I shouldn’t have been surprised – but then I was. Didn’t know what to make of ya.”_

_“You took me by surprise, that’s all.”_

_“Not totally unpleasant surprise, it seemed.”_

_“No, not an unpleasant one. I wish…”_

_“Wish what?”_

_“Nothing, never mind.”_

_“We got there in the end, didn’t we?”_

_“So we did - so we did.”_

* * *

**_Caleb_ **

**It is autumn when Caleb kisses Ben for the first time**

Setauket has… shrunk. That’s the only word Caleb can think of to describe it, having returned home after almost three years at sea.

The town is smaller than in his memories, in which it was vast and full of opportunities for a curious young boy. He remembers the taste of sugared candies at the general store, the huge draft horses in old Hector’s stables towering above even the tallest man in town, the spring markets with wares coming from all over the state, some even as far as from across the sea. It had all seemed so impressive, then – but now all he can see is just a few humble buildings huddled together at the edge of the water like forlorn puppies.

The church hill is lower, the uphill walk not even raising a sweat. The forest at the edge of the town, where many of his youthful adventures took place, is smaller and sparser. And it’s not even as if he has spent much time in bigger cities: a few visits to Nantucket and one pass through York City. But sea: sea he has seen in its immensity, and after one has looked into the midnight sun hovering above the horizon in a vista stretching from there to infinity – well, everything pales in comparison.

And yet when Caleb walks the familiar path from his uncle’s house to the town, it feels right and familiar and comforting. The autumn leaves, left lurid yellow and red by the kiss of the first cold, rustle at his feet as he takes a shortcut through the woods. The smell of pungent earth fills his nostrils, more used to salt and brine of the sea.

He is home.

The only thing that would make his return perfect are his friends, but that is something Caleb intends to fix as soon as he can.

He can’t fault anyone for not welcoming him at his arrival, the opportunity presenting itself quite out of the blue. The ship that he crews for was ravaged badly by the recent storm, forcing her to be dry-docked for repairs. Caleb knows they were lucky to get out of the storm with damage limited only to the ship, there being moments among the monstrous waves and high gales when every man with an iota of common sense had prayed for their dear lives. Maybe being faced with his mortality had been the spark igniting Caleb’s longing to see his hometown once again – and when his captain had asked Caleb to wait until the ship was ready to sail again, he had known exactly what to do.

Caleb had sent a note to his uncle from Nantucket before starting his overland journey. He had also sent a note to Benjamin Tallmadge in Yale, knowing him to be there from the few letters Ben had sent him over time. That they had reached Caleb between his whaling trips was a miracle in and of itself, and Caleb had read and re-read every one of them until their pages had become scuffed and worn.

Caleb had always known that Ben was destined to become an important man and for that, he needed a proper university education. He didn’t send the note expecting Ben to drop everything just to come and see him. He is not that important, after all, not with the university taking priority in Ben’s life. No, it was just something he had felt an urge to do – to reach out, if for nothing else, to let Ben know _‘See, I haven’t forgotten?’_

* * *

Caleb stops at the road crossing, trying to decide where to go first. He realises he’s dressed too warmly for the task, the late autumn sun beaming down on him surprisingly warmly when it isn’t counterweighted by a sprightly sea wind. Not only is he starting to sweat, but his neck itches fiercely, aggravated by his inept attempts to trim his beard that morning. He pulls at the stock on his neck – why did he even bother with it? As if anyone cares how he looks.

He stares at the straight road towards Whitehall, then at the winding path towards the harbour. If he goes to the town to look for Selah, he might have a chance to rest in the shade of the trees in the village square – but then by the time he goes to track Abe, the sun will be even higher.

 _Oh well._ His mind made up, Caleb takes off his coat, turns towards Whitehall and starts walking.

The scenery by the side of the road is not particularly exciting once he has seen the first three fields, all naked after the recent harvest, shorn stalks sticking up in the air in the grotesque plant equivalence of rigor mortis - and soon enough his thoughts return to the day of his departure.

* * *

The small group farewelling him had consisted of just his family and friends, most of them both saddened and excited to see one of their own leave the town for the big wide world. Abe had clapped his shoulders grinning maniacally, his over-imaginative mind having already conjured all kinds of fascinating and wondrous adventures for Caleb. Anna had hugged him tightly, burying her face into his shoulder, propriety be damned. Thomas, Selah and Samuel – being somewhat older and thus considering themselves experienced and not above giving Caleb some sage advice for his journey – had shared with him last pieces of their wisdom that he had largely ignored, laughing at their posturing. As if those boys had ever been any further from their sleepy island than he had.

Ben had been standing at the outskirts of the crowd, shuffling awkwardly on his feet, hugging himself and glancing at the group under his brow. At first Caleb hadn’t paid particular attention to his unusually withdrawn behaviour, but when it had finally been Ben’s turn to say goodbye, the poor boy hadn’t been able to utter a word but only stood there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. No matter, as Caleb tended to have more than enough words to share, irrespective of the situation – some said even too many, and it would behove him to sometimes shut up.

He had pulled Ben into a bear hug.“You’ve given up on me already, Benny-boy? And I not even left the town yet! I’ll be out of your hair in no time, but at least say goodbye well and proper!”

It had been a jape, of course, but Caleb hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to tease him. Always so serious, young Benjamin Tallmadge.

Ben’s bony frame had drowned into Caleb’s hug but he hadn’t resisted, and Caleb’s jape had finally loosened his tongue.

“Of course I haven’t! And I won’t! I just want to wish you good luck and speedy return, and I think you will make a great whaler, and when you come back here we will all be envious of the adventures you have seen. And maybe you will forget us, and maybe you won't even come back, ever. And it isn’t fair if you don’t, as we won’t be forgetting you. _I_ won’t forget.” Ben had pulled back and his words had jumbled together in his haste to convince Caleb that his assumptions were, as a matter of fact, completely baseless.

Caleb had stared at him in bewilderment. What had gotten into young Ben’s head to even think such things? Surely he had seen that Caleb had only been pulling his leg?

Adopting a more serious manner Caleb had assured him that he would _never_ forget his friends and _of course_ he would come back. And he had meant every word – the thought of leaving his childhood, his home and his friends behind for good was unthinkable. His words had seemed to placate Ben, who had been calmed down by then and had even cracked a shy smile.

Shy and thoughtful Ben had always been, trailing behind the older boys when they got into their small town shenanigans as long as Caleb could remember. Whether it was because he was Samuel’s younger brother and Samuel was Caleb's best friend, or because he was otherwise a good lad, Caleb had always had time for young Ben. He had always had time for Samuel and Woody and Selah and Thomas too, and even Annie, although being a girl she hadn’t been as much part of their group as the others.

Yet when Caleb had finally walked up the stairs and towards the end of the jetty and had been just about to step into the boat taking him to the mainland, he had heard a strangled voice behind him.

“Caleb!”

Turning around he had seen Ben running up the jetty, his thin legs pumping air fast, and then he had reached Caleb and stopped, panting and leaning his hands on his knees.

Thinking Ben must have forgotten something, maybe a gift, a trinket he had intended to give to him for good luck, Caleb had looked at him expectantly. The others had already turned to each other and started to chat, seemingly not even noticing Ben’s bolt.

Yet Ben hadn’t handed him anything, hadn’t said anything, but had eventually straightened and just stood there looking at Caleb, his breathing gradually steadying.

And suddenly it hadn’t been young Benny-boy standing there, but someone older, someone different. Someone with a set jaw and a steely look in his eyes, and for a short moment Caleb had seen a glimpse of the man Ben would grow up to be; resolute when his mind was made up, unafraid of consequences.

Caleb had stared at Ben, thrown off balance by the stranger in front of him. Then the moment had passed and the stranger disappeared, leaving behind only Ben, slowly turning red as a beetroot and stammering something about just wanting to wish Caleb safe journeys one more time… Whatever else he might have wanted to tell Caleb, remained unsaid forever.

This time they didn’t hug but shook hands like men, Caleb still wondering if his mind had played tricks or whether he had really seen what he thought he had – and then Caleb had turned and jumped into the waiting boat.

His uncle’s friend, old Henry, had steered the vessel expertly towards the sound and once they were gliding across the open water, Caleb had turned to look behind his shoulder and had seen a lonely figure still standing at the end of the jetty, giving him one more wave.

Caleb had raised his hand and waved back, staring at the figure until the jetty became hidden by the trees as the boat took a turn.

And so Caleb Brewster had left Setauket.

* * *

Caleb finds Abe at his father’s estates, mucking about in the fields. He is delighted to see Caleb although the cat was out of the bag already since Caleb’s uncle told the news to everyone in the village who cared to hear.

Abe hasn’t changed much, still slim and fast, his head filled with extravagant ideas and dreams and his wit too quick for Caleb to follow when it starts roaming. For the time being, he is still trying to make up his mind about whether he wants to become a lawyer like his father and brother - Thomas already having gone to York City to study - or a farmer. To explore the latter, he’s currently trying his hand with all the different kinds of crops Judge Woodhull’s lands bear. Caleb stares suspiciously at the cabbage in Abe’s hands and tells him to forget both and join him at sea – knowing full well that he will not.

The reason for that isn’t too far away either. Anna sees Caleb from her spot under the trees, where she is patiently waiting for Abe to join her for a cool drink and a pie. Caleb steals Abe’s spot and greedily accepts both on offer, savouring the meat pie voraciously after months of eating nothing but fish, telling Anna that it is the best thing he has ever eaten. And he is not exaggerating; the chunky pieces of beef mixed with potatoes and carrots taste heavenly. He savours every crumb of the casing too, dabbing fallen pieces from his lap with his finger.

Anna laughs him off, but sweetly. She has blossomed from a pretty girl to a pretty young woman, but her tongue is as sharp as ever, as Caleb witnesses from the exchanges between her and Abe. He blesses his luck for not being at the receiving end of it, this time, but he has to turn his head away to hide his smile – those two truly deserve each other. Passingly Caleb wonders whether he will be on dry land for their inevitable wedding and whether that would be a big enough event to get the whole old group together, including the Tallmadge brothers: Samuel who has taken up a position in Bridgeport, and Ben from Yale.

* * *

_Ben. Benjamin. Benny-boy._

On his way to the town, Caleb smiles, thinking of Ben, then frowns, remembering the odd manner of their parting.

When they were growing up, Caleb had been the first of their group to become a man, and Ben had been fascinated by the change. Caleb’s beard - a _proper_ one rather than just some wispy hairs sticking out from Selah’s pale skin - had fascinated Ben endlessly, as had the transformation of Caleb’s arms from slender and skinny to muscular and sinewy. Ben used to hang around when Caleb was chopping firewood for his uncle, and the older boys had started to tease him for believing that he could grow a beard and strong arms just by watching Caleb.

Ben had been mortally offended by such suggestions and insisted that he only wanted to learn how to chop wood, and eventually Caleb had taken pity on him and shown him how to do just that. Although the Tallmadges were not exactly rich, they were well-off enough to have servants to do their woodchopping, but Ben had been an eager student and he and Caleb had spent long sessions at Brewster’s barn going through the finer points of log splitting.

They hadn’t told the other boys about the lessons. Caleb had wanted to spare Ben from further teasing, and Ben - well, he had always been the one holding his cards close to his chest. Sympathising with Ben’s eagerness to grow up, Caleb had consoled him that his time to become a man would come too, eventually.

By the time he sees Ben again - maybe at Abe and Anna’s wedding - he just might see with his own eyes whether his assurances have come true.

* * *

Caleb catches Selah at his family home at the edge of town. He knows about Caleb’s visit as well, but where Abe is still a dreamer, Selah is all grown up and serious, his manner that of a man who has earnestly started to think about his future and standing in the world. They share a civilised cup of tea at the veranda, agreeing to get together the following night as suggested by Abe - for some old-fashioned hell-raising, as Selah swears.

Caleb suspects that hell may rest in peace for a bit longer, considering Abe insisted on Anna joining them as well, but he is willing to go along. He has brought with him a few flasks of strong home-distilled moonshine procured from one of his fellow crew members, and if that doesn’t get tongues running, he doesn’t know what will.

* * *

Caleb truly doesn't expect Ben to forgo his studies and take a tedious trip back to the island just to see him - so Ben showing up on his uncle’s doorstep the next day takes him by surprise.

“Christ on a pony! You have grown, Benny-boy!” Caleb laughs and grabs Ben by the shoulders, eying him from the top of his head to his boots.

He sure has.

The gangly youth, all long legs and long arms, is now a strong and strapping young man with neatly tied hair, tightly fitted breeches and a fancy jacket. He is taller than Caleb and while Caleb hesitates, taken aback with the appearance of such a dazzling gentleman on his porch, Ben has no such compunctions. He has to bend down a bit when they hug, but hug they do.

“So have you, Caleb! Is that a beard or has a beaver made its nest under your chin?” Ben laughs, making his own assessment of Caleb after pulling away. The scrutiny of those brilliant blue eyes makes Caleb squirm and suddenly he wishes he had put on his better shirt rather than the one with frayed sleeves and an unmistakable blotch of whale oil in the middle of the chest that doesn’t wash off, no matter how many times he tries. He even took it to the washerwomen in Nantucket in hopes he would have at least two presentable pieces of clothing at hand, but no joy there either.

Ben doesn’t seem to notice or care, or maybe he has been brought up too well to make others uncomfortable whatever the situation. His eyes sparkle and he looks at ease, a new kind of confidence in his bearing. Caleb feels scruffy and unkempt beside him.

“It’s the latest fashion, ladies love it. You’d know if you raised your nose out of a book every now and then,” Caleb teases, scrambling to get back to the familiar ground where it is his witty retorts rather than his appearance that matters.

“And you know exactly what ladies like – meet many of them on a whaling boat?”

 _Damn._ Ben’s tongue has grown bolder as well.

“More than you in your university halls, boy!”

They laugh and smirk at each other, standing at the door threshold, Caleb still too gobsmacked to even bid Ben enter. When he finally does, Ben declines, politely, saying that he has yet to reach his home and he really should be getting on to see his father. Caleb tells him about the planned outing that evening and Ben swears to be there, come hell or high water.

As Caleb stares at the back of Ben’s retreating figure on a horse, he wonders what happened to the scrawny lad back in the day. The brainy one, aye, and good-hearted – but not one Caleb would have ever thought to grow up to be such a sight for a sore eye. Yet the same boy who had faithfully traipsed behind him and Samuel was still present too, in those smiling blue eyes and a grin that had lightened his whole face.

But he is a grown man now, there can be no doubt about that.

* * *

They set up a bonfire in their usual haunt, in one of the many coves dotted along the mainland-facing coastline. From the looks of it, it has been years since anyone has done so, the fire pit surrounded with rocks and overturned half-rotted logs being filled with the flotsam and jetsam dragged there by the relentless tides. Caleb helps Abe and Selah to clear it while Ben and Anna search for tree branches and kindling from the forest, piling it at an easy-to-reach distance from the pit.

Once the fire is burning, Caleb brings up the bottle of good stuff and shares it around. Abe is the first to drink, ending up spluttering half of his drink down his chin and chest, unaccustomed to such strong liquors. They all laugh, but it is a good-natured laugh, Abe joining in himself. After that, the others show a bit more caution, but everyone takes at least a sip, even Anna, puckering her lips in distaste but swallowing it down just the same.

Ben takes a sip too and drinks it like a man. He glances at Caleb and Caleb smiles.

Then comes the time for endless tales, first shared slowly, but as the bottle makes more rounds around the pit, more readily and louder. Caleb hears all he ever wanted to know about cabbage farming and quite a lot that he never wanted to know, and Selah outlines his budding plans to buy a share in the village inn and in due course, maybe the whole lot. Anna doesn’t share much but from the way her eyes follow Abe, Caleb figures she has made some plans of her own as well.

Ben entertains them with tales from the university, painting a vivid picture of hallowed halls and stuffy professors tormenting poor students by forcing ancient languages, mathematics and the art of debating down their throats. His newly found confidence makes him a good storyteller, and without ever exaggerating or interrupting others, he soon has their small group enthralled.

Caleb knows the evening is all about them pretending to be young and carefree once more before taking their place in real society. It is only a façade, but a beautiful one - and why shouldn’t they enjoy it while they can? Soon Abe will join his brother in York City or settle down on a farm, he and Anna will marry and Anna will start looking after children of their own. Selah will set-up his business and Ben will return to Yale. And Caleb, he will return to the sea, sail to Iceland or further, and see his hometown and his friends only in his dreams.

Insects buzz in the soon descending twilight, attracted by the fire, their dance among the flames reminding Caleb of all those other nights they had shared their stories under the moonlight. It is a pleasant memory, made even more pleasant by the comfortable warmth spreading from his gullet all the way through his body, the moonshine doing its job admirably.

Caleb observes Ben as they sit, trying not to be obvious about it. He still can’t believe how much he has changed, becoming a man, but not in the same mould as Caleb is; stocky and stout and a bit rough around the edges, but more refined, sophisticated – pretty, even.

The thought sobers Caleb and he sits up straighter, the bottle in his hand forgotten. A memory of an unsavoury event from his first year at sea washes over him and Caleb suppresses an urge to swear out loud. _Pretty!_

He stares at the flames and in them sees the face of another young man, almost a boy, with blue eyes and delicate features just like Ben’s. Elijah had been Caleb’s crewmate, a nice lad and a hard worker – but pretty; too pretty for his own good.

Jethro, a harpooner, a tall man with a drooping moustache and tattooed forearms, had liked the look of the boy well enough. Soon the initially outgoing lad became withdrawn and skittish and lost the colour in his cheeks. The rest of the crew looked aside, pretending not to notice – if Elijah didn’t ask for help, it wasn’t their matter to intervene in. And initially Caleb had been one of those men.

Yet when one morning Elijah showed up in the mess with splotched, red eyes and bruises on his wrists, Caleb knew he had to do something.

By then he wasn’t a stranger to what happened between men during long stretches at sea when women were scarce and comfort was hard to find. Those things were an open secret and after overcoming his initial surprise – _men could do that?_ – Caleb had decided it was none of his business what others did. Yet he thought it only fair that both parties had to want it, and clearly Elijah had not.

So it was that one day when Jethro and Caleb were trailing after a whale in the same whaleboat, Jethro ready with a harpoon and Caleb holding the spear intended for the killing blow, Caleb pressed the tip of the spear against Jethro’s back and told him in no uncertain terms what would happen to him if he didn’t leave the boy alone. The rowers pretended not to see what was going on and that, intensified by the tickle of cold steel through his clothes, was enough to convince Jethro that Caleb was serious.

The crew never mentioned the matter afterwards but Elijah started to smile again and Caleb was served free rounds of drinks from those who still had bottles to share.

What he didn’t count on, though, was how one evening as he was sitting in his usual place of meditation at the bow of the ship, staring at the waves whose shapes and motions fascinated him endlessly, Elijah had snuggled next to him. Thinking he had perhaps wanted to offer his thanks, Caleb had expected him to say something – but instead had felt Elijah’s hand on his thigh. High enough, and staying there long enough to make sure that the gesture couldn’t be misunderstood – and for a fleeting moment Caleb had been curious, tempted even.

He had sometimes wondered what it would be like and whether it would remove some of the loneliness that crept on him in unguarded moments. Moments when adventures at sea were not what he had expected, and when the absence of close friends sucked the joy out of life.

Yet Caleb declined. He hadn’t faced Jethro only for the boy to think he owed Caleb something, but because it was the decent thing to do. So he removed Elijah’s hand from his thigh and made a light-hearted jape about it just to show there was no judgment on his part. The boy had accepted it – and to be honest, had appeared even somewhat relieved, which in some twisted way had stung Caleb’s pride. He was a good catch, wasn’t he? Any man would be lucky to have him, wouldn’t they?

The two of them had stayed friendly until their paths took them apart, as they do with crew members who drift in and out of each other’s life as set by the vagaries of the sea and bounty and weather, never knowing where their next job comes from. In such environment friendships are forged and then put aside as easily as one discards a pair of old socks.

Had it been some years later, Caleb might have taken up what was offered, by then having had his share of such experiences. Not necessarily initiated on his own accord, but when a fellow crewman, a man with whom he got along better than most, had approached Caleb with a request to help him scratch an itch… why not? His loneliness hadn’t gone away; if anything, it had gotten worse. So he had helped his mate to scratch his itch, and he had helped Caleb to do the same, and it had been all very convivial and straightforward. No kissing, that was reserved for women or in some rare occasions, to men who shared a true connection. Caleb didn’t mind that either. Things between fellow crew members were mostly matters of convenience, a friend helping a friend, some variety to the monotony of one’s own company and hand. Nothing lasting, nothing serious, just warmth and a fleeting pleasure shared.

Neither was he partial just to his mates. When the opportunity arose, Caleb too took part on shore expeditions extending to the nearest – and cheapest – whorehouses, but he had never been particularly impressed by such experiences. Aye, it is different with women, they have places where a man can stick it, but other than that, the fleeting nature of such encounters doesn’t sit right with him.

Remembering Elijah after seeing Ben, however, now gnaws on Caleb. He stops paying attention to the discussion, instead fidgeting with the empty bottle and frowning, trying to get to the bottom of his sudden discomfort. It doesn’t take long for it to crystallize, clear as a cloudless sky above the endless sea.

_Who is defending Ben? If a rough classmate or a teacher takes a fancy to him at Yale, who will guard his back?_

Caleb doesn’t entertain mistaken notions about any place filled with young, lively men and how things might stand there. If he has learned anything on his travels, it is that men are the same, wherever they are. Some good and decent, some depraved and devious, and innocent boys and men too often find themselves being preyed upon completely without their own fault.

_How is Ben navigating those treacherous waters?_

Caleb feels a cold squeeze in his innards. He grabs the half-full bottle and drinks deep, the fire of the backyard still burning his throat as it goes down.

_Not my business. I can’t protect him. He’s a man now, he has to learn to take care of himself._

Telling it to himself doesn’t help.

* * *

As the evening goes on, the others start to yawn and talk about retiring for the night. Selah promises to escort Abe and Anna to their respective houses, Abe promises to do the same for Selah and Anna, and Anna just giggles. In any other company Caleb would have second thoughts about letting Anna go with either of them, but it being Abe and Selah, he only chuckles and wishes them godspeed on their way.

Besides, when was he appointed as the guardian of virtues of the Setauket youth?

Finally it is just Caleb and Ben sitting on the fallen tree trunk, staring at the dwindling fire. Ben doesn’t say anything about needing to leave and Caleb doesn’t want to prod him. Ben only has leave from his studies for two days, he told Caleb when he first arrived, and Caleb is not in a hurry to send him on his way.

The night is unusually warm for so late in the autumn, the heat of the day still lingering all around them. Caleb can hear owls hooting in the forest and rustles of small forest animals on their nightly outings. They don’t talk – there is no need for it. The silence is companionable and if not for the persistent sinking feeling at the bottom of Caleb’s belly, put there by his morbid musings of a crewmate from long ago, the night would be perfect.

Since it is only two of them left, it seems acceptable to stare at Ben directly, which Caleb does. He has drunk more than he intended and now seeing Ben likewise inebriated, his face flushed and his eyes unnaturally bright, so open and vulnerable, makes the imagined threat on his friend’s virtue almost unbearable.

“Have you many friends at Yale, Benny-boy?” Caleb asks, startling Ben. He leans forward and grabs a log from the nearby pile and throws it into the fire, sparks flying high up in the air. The extra log isn’t strictly speaking necessary, but at least it gives him something to do while waiting for Ben’s answer.

Ben frowns, his brows forming a fierce arch. “Friends? I have a few. Classmates, mostly.”

“Good friends?”

Ben pushes one of the burned husks, fallen from the fire, back into it with his boot. His face is scrunched into that serious look he used to have when he was thinking – something that years haven’t changed.

“Well, there is Nathan… He is my best friend there.” His mouth curves into a slow smile and Caleb feels a sudden urge to punch that Nathan, whoever he is.

While he is grappling with that unexpected impulse, Ben gets serious again and glances at Caleb under his brow. “My best _new_ friend. I haven’t forgotten my old friends – not those that matter.”

As quick as it arrived, Caleb’s irritation dissipates and his mood lifts. Yet, he is on a mission and so he pushes forward.

“Does anyone you know interact with you strangely? Is anyone too forward?” Caleb is unsure how to approach the topic directly; those things are usually not discussed openly and despite his having no reservations or illusions about such things, he isn’t sure how much Ben knows. Being a reverend’s son and all.

“Too forward? What do you mean? Of course we all stand our ground, we debate, argue even. It is all part of our learning.” Ben looks at Caleb as if he is suddenly sprouting horns, asking such a stupid question. His cheeks are flaming, either due to liquor or the fire, and in that moment he looks exactly like angels in the altarpiece of the church Caleb once visited at the urging of one of his crewmates from the southern states; one of those churches filled with paintings and decorations and richly ornamented things.

Caleb shakes his head to rid himself of the image, it doing no favours for his ability to focus on the matter at hand.

“I mean has anyone tried to touch you… improperly?”

Ben continues to glare at him, uncomprehending, so to demonstrate what he means, Caleb lays his hand on Ben’s knee and squeezes it.

“Like this, for example?”

Ben stares at it, squinting. He must be drunker than Caleb thought to be so slow to react, the silence between them stretching on and on. Or can he truly be so naïve as not to take Caleb’s meaning? He can’t, really – or can he?

_Christ!_

Frustrated by the lack of Ben’s reaction, Caleb decides he has to be blunter with his approach in order to make Ben understand what he means. He shifts closer and turns to Ben, lifts his other hand to grab him by the neck and pulls him closer. He doesn’t intend to _actually_ kiss Ben, only show what an unwanted advance looks like in a manner that can’t be misconstrued.

Yet he misjudges his grip or maybe Ben falls too much forward due to his intoxicated state or maybe the log they sit on shifts, throwing them both off the balance – but the end result is that their lips meet. Only briefly, but long enough for Caleb to register the softness of Ben’s lips, the sudden stillness of his body and his own ragged breathing.

Ben should react to _that._ He should shudder, he should curse, he should shove him away.

He doesn’t do any of those things.

As it is, it is Caleb who scrambles back in horror, feeling all kinds of awkward. To hide it, he mumbles: “Has anyone done something like _that_ to you? It is improper and if anyone tries it, you should clout them.”

“Oh.” Ben looks down, his brow furrowed, then licks his lips. “Should I clout you now, then?”

Caleb laughs, some of his embarrassment melting away. “Ain’t gonna succeed if you tried, my boy. Besides, it was just to show you what I mean. For education.”

_Yes, it was all about education. Showing him what is wrong._

Caleb grabs the bottle standing next to his leg and takes a swig, swirling it in his mouth and regretting it immediately. He didn’t have a proper taste of Ben but when he thinks of it, he can imagine it from the fleeting whiff of their shared breath at the moment when he removed his mouth from Ben’s.

It was wrong, it was a mistake – but Caleb finds that in his heart he can’t truly regret it. However unintended and fleeting, it was still better than any other kiss he remembers giving or receiving.

Ben takes the bottle from his hands but doesn’t drink, only turning it in his hands. He has lowered his head so Caleb can’t see his eyes, but at least he hasn’t moved away but stays sitting where he is, still right next to Caleb.

“So has anyone?” Caleb returns to his original question. If he is claiming this to be for educational purposes, he better follow it through.

“No. Nobody has done it – nor have I done it to anyone.” Ben’s words come out slowly, their tone thoughtful rather than angry.

Caleb stops holding his breath, relieved. All things notwithstanding, at least it seems that Ben isn’t in immediate danger.

 _From anyone else._ The irony of the situation doesn’t escape Caleb.

“I guess it means that I was your first kiss. Fancy that,” Caleb tries to inject some humour into the situation, to make light of it. Yet at the back of his mind is a tinge of regret. Ben deserves his first kiss to be with someone he cares about; some nice girl from a good family.

He scrubs a hand down his face and groans, desperately trying to think of a way to salvage the situation. Not for him, but for _Ben_. How not to spoil his best friend’s prospects with his idiotic and ill-advised attempt to _educate_ him?

“Truthfully, it doesn’t count. You don’t want your first kiss to be with a rough whaler. You can just ignore this, this wasn’t even a peck.”

It is a lie - Caleb can still feel Ben’s lips under his own, and how soft they were.

“You can still save your first real kiss for some nice girl, some young society lady,” Caleb continues, not sure anymore who he tries to convince; himself or Ben.

“Hmmm. What’s done is done,” Ben sighs, finally taking a sip. “Besides, it could be worse.”

“How?” Caleb is curious. Ben has taken the whole thing better than he expected – and at the same time, he has confirmed that he hasn’t been preyed upon, which alone lifts some weight off Caleb’s shoulders.

“It could have been Abe.” Ben succeeds in staying serious only for a moment longer before he bursts out laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I aim to post the other chapters over the next several weeks. Any comments are gratefully received, and I don’t mind truly constructive criticism either if you feel so inclined… Also feel free to come and say hi to me on my Tumblr, where I am [ladytp](https://ladytp.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In the previous chapter:** Caleb returns to Setauket after years at sea, reconnecting with his childhood friends Abe, Selah, Anna and surprisingly, also Ben, making a special visit from Yale. They all have grown up but Caleb can’t believe the transformation of Ben from a gangly and shy youth into a strapping young man. Seeing him reminds Caleb of his first whaling trip and the abuse he witnessed towards another pretty boy – just like Ben. When attempting to teach Ben about such dangers he inadvertently delivers Ben his first kiss, it having unexpectedly big impact on Caleb’s own state of mind. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we go, onto chapter two of the story of Ben and Caleb. I am deliberately a bit vague about the timelines, as well as about the links with real canon events. Please don’t mind that and just indulge me in my fanfic writer's liberties…
> 
> Many thanks to my supportive beta [Lucyemers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers)!

* * *

_“You know, I had been fishing for that invitation for a good while already before you finally came to your senses”._

_“I thought you were just grumbling for grumbling’s sake, as soldiers are wont to.”_

_“Nah, I wanted to step into bed with you. Even though I knew that would be all there was.”_

_“You knew, did you?”_

_“I thought.”_

_“That’s better.”_

_-_

_“For what it is worth, I was kicking myself for a long time for not inviting you sooner.”_

_“Had I known, I’d have kicked you too, Benny-boy!”_

* * *

_**Ben** _

**It is autumn when Ben invites Caleb to his bed for the first time**

Ben’s thumb is stained with ink leaked from an ill-used quill and, as he writes, he sees the dark smudge spreading into his other fingers and eventually smearing the page he is writing. Ink stains are not unusual in field reports written in various testing conditions, but this is an important letter from General Scott, and he should really at least make an effort to keep it neat. He shifts the quill in his hand, aiming for a better grip, but by now it is slick with ink and his fingers slip. Sighing, he drops the pen and reaches for a handkerchief, wiping his hand.

Glancing at the offending pen and concluding that taking it up again would only cause more mess, Ben pushes the sheet away and decides to finish it in the morning. He’ll just get up a bit earlier, that’s all. The day has been long and he really needs some sleep – if for nothing else, to have a better grip on his life.

Literally.

Yet before he gets on his feet, there is a knock at his door. Three staccato taps, and before Ben can react; query who it is, invite the caller in, or hardly even register that somebody is behind his door, it bursts open and Caleb steps in.

 _Of course Caleb._ Who else would do such a thing?

“Christ, Tallboy, still working? Don’t you ever rest?”

A whiff of fresh air and scents of early autumn, mingled with Caleb’s own earthy and smoky aroma – the result of too many days in a saddle and too many nights by the campfire - fill the room.

Without waiting for an answer, Caleb throws his hat on the floor and sinks onto Ben’s bed, looking every bit as if he stepped into his own room rather than that of his superior officer. If he had a room, that is. Caleb shares a large tent with other men of lower ranks, forcing him to sleep amidst the cacophony of their snores and farts and restless tossing, as he is wont to remind Ben often enough. Probably just to make Ben feel sorry for him. He succeeds, to a certain degree, although, of course, Ben won’t admit it to Caleb.

Their unit is on the road, on its way to meet up with General Lee’s forces before marching on together. It is a nice change from weeks of staying in one place, not knowing when and where the next bit of action is coming from, and this particular night they have been lucky to find themselves staying in a real village. It has a well-appointed inn and a parade ground for the tents and even stables for their horses. Everyone can rest, if not in full comfort, at least reasonably well.

Ben has been given his own room, which is a luxury not usually afforded to men of his rank, but he has the task he just so wearily gave up to thank for that. His (usually) neat hand-writing has earned him the dubious honour of writing most of General Scott’s reports and letters, and that calls for a proper desk and lighting that can only be had in a proper room.

Ben shakes his head and bends to pick up Caleb’s hat – a wide-brimmed monstrosity as far away from the standard attire of the Continental Army as can be – and places it on the table.

“As it happens, I was just about to retire for the night before a certain someone barged into my quarters as if he owned them.” Ben pretends annoyance but is secretly amused despite knowing he really shouldn’t be. There is a certain hierarchy one has to observe in the army, but Caleb couldn’t care less about it and it’s hard for Ben to be forceful about the matter, considering their friendship.

He walks stiffly back to his desk but stays standing, staring down at Caleb, hoping his expression is suitably indignant to make Caleb at least a little bit bashful.

Caleb only smirks back at him and Ben knows his bluff has been called. Caleb sees right through his pretended irritation – but he is just too nice to declare it openly.

* * *

Ben and Caleb kept in touch over the years since those two days in Setauket when they got to know each other and the men they had become all over again. The matter of Caleb’s ‘education’ was not raised again, not by Ben because it had left him in such a state of confusion he wouldn’t have known what to say, and not by Caleb because – well, to Ben it seemed Caleb wanted to forget about the whole thing. And he had to respect that, no matter how many questions whirled around in his head.

Ben knew what Caleb had meant, even that evening. He had heard whispers about fellow students, about things so shameful they could only be talked about in hushed voices, and he had seen groups of young men dressed in bright colours and some with painted faces in the city. Mollies, his friends scoffed, while Ben craned his neck in trying to get a glimpse of such scandalous creatures. What he also heard, much later, was that practically all sailors were inclined that way when the opportunity arose. It had coloured his experience with Caleb in a new light and he had wondered... Had Caleb ever?

His and Caleb’s correspondence was marred by distance and chance, letters often tracking their recipient from port to port and from lodging to lodging. They were not filled with lengthy descriptions of the events of their lives, but the few short paragraphs were enough to maintain the connection that could have so easily been frayed and broken, and separated by high seas and their diverging paths in life.

Not that Ben was likely to forget Caleb anyway. He had idolised Caleb for as long as he could remember, after all. Caleb had always been the first from their group to accept a challenge, to jump the highest and swim the furthest, the one to face any dare or challenge in the most audacious manner, all the while treating life as a big jape and laughing his way through the hazy summer days and breezy winter nights of their shared childhood.

Ben had envied him too, not maliciously, but out of admiration. Caleb had become a man when others – even Samuel and Thomas and Selah - had stayed boys for much longer. So it was no wonder that of all his friends in Setauket, Ben’s thoughts had returned to Caleb most frequently, often wondering where his adventures took him and fervently hoping he was safe. So many young men left for the sea and never came back, either a freak wave, dying throes of a whale, a fever or a mishap of some other kind snuffing their life short.

 _‘Let Caleb be safe’_ Ben used to end his evening prayers, a habit he had carried with him from his father’s house. There was something comforting about laying one’s concerns at the feet of a larger power and an odd sense of relief at being able to speak out loud one’s most earnest wishes.

Besides, his classmates' excited exchanges about girls and kisses brought the memory of Caleb’s lips on his own into Ben’s mind, which inevitably left him blushing – which completely unsurprisingly led to teasing from his friends. As a consequence, Ben went as far as to make up a pathetic tale about an innkeeper’s daughter back in his hometown who had given him his first kiss, purely to be able to hold his own in such discussions, the truth of the matter being impossible to reveal.

He assigned Anna’s image to the girl in question in his tale to anchor it into a more tangible reality, his descriptions of Anna’s large brown eyes, soft dark hair and curvy hips earning a hooting approval from his audience. Ben was ashamed of it, sending a silent apology to Anna in his mind despite knowing that to be unnecessary. If his friends only knew that it had been messy brown hair and a bushy beard instead… Ben didn’t want to even think about the consequences.

Then, a few months back Caleb had walked into Washington’s camp announcing that if Ben was trying to get himself killed in this bleeding war, he had better be there too to protect his scrawny ass. He hadn’t declared his intentions to the officers with those exact words, of course, proclaiming it to be his patriotic duty to join the war effort, but Ben heard all about it over tankards of beer they shared that evening to celebrate their reunion.

The birth of a new nation, throwing away the yoke of Britain – those things had spoken to Ben profoundly. And when Nathan had enlisted, Ben had seen no other option than to follow that same path. With a heavy heart he had accepted that his choice inevitably drove a wedge between his old life and new, his home and most of his friends being left behind that cruel and arbitrary battle line. Yet, as sad as it made him, Ben knew he couldn’t have done it any differently. Which was why seeing Caleb again meant more to Ben than Caleb probably even realised or Ben could express.

So they ended up side by side, brought together by the determination and spirit of the new country, taking the comfort of each other’s company when the world around them was changing. And for that, Ben couldn’t hope for a better man next to him than Caleb.

* * *

“Don’t let me stop you. You need your beauty sleep, to stay pretty and all,” Caleb says, grinning widely and crossing his arms but not making a move to stand up. To make matters worse, he lifts his muddy boots on top of a chest filled with General Scott’s correspondence and shifts backwards, practically sprawling all over Ben’s bed.

Ben sighs deeply. It is typical for Caleb not to take him seriously, rank be damned – but he really is tired and not in a mood to join Caleb in whatever cockamamie plan he has hatched for the night. From the grin in Caleb’s face Ben concludes that he is not tired, probably bursting to tell Ben all about his latest adventures or to grill Ben about their next movements.

They sometimes have days when they hardly see each other, both engrossed with their respective duties. Caleb scouts ahead for much of the time whereas Ben is stuck with his troops, still new to the ways of leading men and taking care of their development as soldiers. Drills, complaints, identifying which one of the young-faced recruits can grow to take on more responsibilities. It is not so different from his short stint as a teacher – only more deadly and with higher stakes. Nonetheless, they always end up together eventually, sharing what each has been up to. Either Caleb comes to his tent and lounges around in Ben’s cot just as he’s doing now, while Ben attends to his papers, or they sit together at the campfire sharing whatever rations the army has given them for their meal. It is comforting to know there is one constant that doesn’t change even in the commotion of army life.

Ben hovers in his place, struggling with himself about whether he should just tell Caleb to leave, no explanations offered, or plead to his good heart – as there is one beating in that broad chest – to take pity on his state. He knows should he reveal his weariness to Caleb, he would understand and give him all the respite he needs - but somehow he hesitates. Wouldn’t it be weakness?

Caleb examines his fingernails, picks a small pocket knife from the inside of his coat and proceeds to clean the dirt from under them, clearly unfazed about Ben’s predicament.

Hardening his heart, Ben clears his throat.

“I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow, as do you. I must insist.”

Getting no response, Ben figures that if he simply behaved as Caleb isn’t in the room, he’d get the hint soon enough and realise his presence is not welcomed. At least not _this_ night - another night, sure.

Ben removes his coat and folds it neatly at the back of his chair, then starts unbuttoning his waistcoat. It is still warm, autumn gales not having reached them yet, and being in the middle of safe lands means that an alarm in the middle of the night is unlikely, offering the luxury of being able to sleep in his shirt rather than fully clothed.

After removing his waistcoat, Ben removes his boots and places them side by side next to the table, then reaches for the buckles of his kneebands. Undressing in front of Caleb makes him self conscious and awkward, which is quite ridiculous as they have seen each other in various stages of undress and even naked a few times, in their youth. Yet when Ben glances up and catches Caleb’s brown eyes following his every movement, his fingers turn to sausages and he fumbles with the buckles much longer than usual.

“Isn’t this the part where you realise that I am actually preparing for bed and you convey your good night wishes and leave?” Ben queries, stopping his hands at the buttons of his breeches. He is damned if he is going to let Caleb’s presence intimidate him as it did when they were younger. Besides, he _is_ the higher ranking officer.

Caleb only rolls his eyes. He has put the knife away and his full attention is directed at Ben, making Ben even more aware of his state of undress.

He really should just order him to leave.

Nonetheless, the thought of seeing Caleb leave so soon after arriving doesn’t sit well with Ben either. If he wasn’t so tired… but maybe he could stay up just a bit longer…

While Ben is reconsidering his options, Caleb scrunches up his face, sighing theatrically. “Fine, Major, you got me. I better go to my hard cot in the middle of a bunch of noisy bastards, whose snoring will keep me up half the night. After all, it is only officer types who get to enjoy the luxury of some peace and quiet.” He drops his legs on the floor with a heavy thud and gets on his feet, his every movement exaggeratedly slow.

Ben flinches. He doesn’t take Caleb’s words seriously, as he knows they are not truly intended as such, but still… It is not fair. They both perform valuable duties for the army, and for him to have all this luxury and for Caleb to be confined in such bleak lodgings…

Caleb ambles slowly towards the door, his shoulders hunched, and Ben watches him go, his fingers still frozen at his buttons.

“Caleb, wait,” Ben speaks without thinking it through. “Stay.”

Caleb stops and his eyes narrow as he turns to face Ben.

“I could use some company, and I have room enough for one more. Maybe if we spread a mattress on the floor…” Ben is interrupted by Caleb’s exclamation, accompanied by the widest grin he has ever seen.

“I thought you’d never ask, Benny-boy!” Without losing a stride, Caleb shrugs off his coat and vest in one motion and starts tugging at his stock and kicking off his boots at the same time. His attire is much less formal and tight-fitting than Ben’s and before Ben has time to react, Caleb has dropped his breeches and is dressed only in his shirt, its hem reaching halfway down his thighs.

Ben is momentarily distracted by the sight of Caleb’s legs, covered by dark hair. Has he always been this hairy? Ben can’t remember, but he turns his head away, fast. One doesn’t stare at another man – that is the rule.

“Nah, forget about the floor for these old bones. I’m not a spring chicken anymore; not as young and fit as I used to be, you know. Besides, this bed is wide enough for us two – again, officer’s privileges. We ordinary men have to sleep sideways to fit into our cots, but this is luxurious!” Caleb jumps into the bed and crawls next to the wall, pulling the blanket on top of him, then looks expectantly at Ben.

“You coming?”

The bed is wide enough, that is true, and soft enough, with its double mattress. Beds in inns usually are, ready to accommodate two persons or a whole family in a room, if needed. This wouldn’t even be the first time they have shared a bed, Caleb having spent many nights at the Tallmadge house, first in Samuel’s room, and a few times in Ben’s. They had been nights for staying up half the night, telling stories and planning adventures, carefree and light-hearted…

But this is different. _Very_ different.

Ben stares at Caleb, incredulously; he can’t be serious. For the two of them to share a bed… Yet Caleb is a picture of innocence as he fidgets on the bed, punching the pillow and mussing it under his head, every now and then glancing in Ben’s direction as if it is the most natural thing in the world for him to follow his example.

Ben swallows, stalling for time, but somehow his fingers start to work again on their own. All the while he undresses, butterflies in Ben’s stomach intensify. This is _wrong_. This is not how it is supposed to be. Uninvited, his gaze flits to the door. It is closed and it can be locked. Of course only one person would think of bursting into his room uninvited, and that person is in it already – but just in case… Ben walks to the door and turns the key, its soft click sounding loud in his ears.

Ben knows most of his men don’t fault his special relationship with Caleb, the story of their shared childhood being common knowledge. If Caleb spends more time in his company than any other man in Caleb’s position would be expected to, Ben makes sure he never grants him special privileges that could be construed as favouritism.

Nobody would know about this, Caleb’s absence would likely be explained away either as one of his scouting missions or a sign that he has been lucky with a local girl. An act officially frowned upon for an enlisted man, but in practice, tolerated.

He might even get away with someone knowing that Caleb has shared his room, on account of them working late at night planning their assignments. But to share a bed… some people might see it the wrong way, in the worst case leading to conclusions that could result in public shaming and punishment.

Ben should tell Caleb to leave. He should insist he sleep on the floor. He should choose the floor for himself and leave the bed to Caleb. Those are the only sensible actions available for him, having been foolish enough to let things go this far.

Ben chooses none of them.

Instead, he refuses to think about the matter at all. No deliberations, no what-ifs, no second thoughts. A strange feeling fills him from the inside and he feels like floating, his chest tightened with…what? Fear? Anticipation?

Ben folds his breeches neatly over his coat and hovers for a moment, unsure whether to blow the candles out or leave them burning. Eventually he snuffs them, darkness giving him a false sense of security of being invisible.

He climbs into the bed and settles on his back. Caleb has hogged a pillow to himself but the bed has two, so he settles his head on the other – but for the blanket, he has to reach over to Caleb’s side. When his hand touches Caleb’s, who is just lifting that very same blanket to spread it over Ben, he flinches.

“Easy now, Benny-boy,” low voice murmurs close to his ear. “I promise, your virtue is safe with me.” His tone suggests that Caleb is smiling. In response, Ben makes an uncommitted sound, not sure how to respond to such an absurd statement.

“Even though I was your first kiss, it doesn’t mean that I have to be your first everything, does it?” Caleb continues with a barely concealed chuckle. “And it would be your first, wouldn’t it? You haven’t been swept off your feet by some tavern wench or a well-read lady?”

Ben is surprised to hear Caleb bringing the matter up now, after not mentioning it before. Even after the many evenings they have spent together recently, it was one memory of their past neither had raised. He had assumed Caleb had forgotten the whole thing, that it perhaps wasn’t as momentous to him as it was for Ben.

Then Ben bristles. Truth to be told, he hasn’t been with anyone _that_ way, but that is none of Caleb’s business. Well-read ladies or good girls don’t sleep with men who are not their husbands, and although he had many chances to go with women who do it for money as his classmates did, his father’s teachings of sin always stopped him. That, and stories he heard about unsuspecting clients ending up with horrid diseases.

His silence doesn’t seem to deter Caleb, quite the contrary.

“Have you had your first real kiss, at least? Wiped away the beard burn from the last time?”

“Of course I have. I’m a man grown and not quite as naïve as you seem to take me for,” Ben snaps. He _has_ shared more than one kiss with a woman, in truth. With the waitress at the inn near the campus who took a liking to him. With the daughter of one his teachers, a forward girl who accosted him at a university function one spring and dragged him into the garden and made it known that she wouldn’t object should Ben want to kiss her. With the barmaid in one of the villages the army marched through the previous year, who surprised Ben and kissed him full on the mouth before he had time to react.

What Ben would never tell to Caleb is that none of those kisses was as memorable as _that_ one. Why it has stayed in his mind so vividly, he can’t tell. Maybe because it was Caleb, someone he has known for the longest time and who is his best friend and not just a casual acquaintance.

Ben shifts, pulling the blanket higher up under his chin. Why did he have to start thinking about that kiss? As if it isn’t bad enough that he can sense Caleb so near, his solid bulk exuding warmth, their sides touching.

“Well, that’s good,” Caleb says, his voice oddly disembodied in the darkness. “Wouldn’t want you to be going without, as that would be a waste of God’s gifts - with you looking like you do, all dashing and handsome.”

“What about you, then? You have a girl in every port as they say about sailors?” _Or worse._ Once again Ben wonders if there is any truth in the stories about sailors and their at sea-proclivities.

“I’ve had my share.” Caleb’s laconic answer with a tone that is not boastful by any means, surprises Ben. It would be so like Caleb to launch into a colourful and most certainly exaggerated story of his adventures with the fairer sex. As a matter of fact, Ben recalls having heard snippets of exactly such bragging once or twice over the campfires, when some wide-eyed recruit from the backcountry has asked Caleb about his seafaring days. And Caleb has always been the one belting “Spanish Ladies’ from the top of his lungs, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively when the mood takes him.

“What about between ports?” There. He asked. Vague enough, so Caleb wouldn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to. “Any educational experiences?”

Caleb chuckles, the mattress vibrating slightly to the rhythm of it. “Tallboy, what kind of question is that? Heard stories, have you?”

Was that a yes? Ben isn’t keen to delve deeper, the topic already making him blush red as a beetroot – it’s a good thing he blew out the candles.

“Well, men are men and nights can get lonely out there. You know, many things are different at sea than at land.” Caleb shifts and Ben more senses than sees him crossing his arms behind his head. Ben waits for him to continue, guessing that he hasn’t finished – and he is right.

“We had a first mate years ago, an old hand who had spent his whole life at sea. In his youth, he had been a pirate in the Caribbean and sailed with some real nasty captains under the good’ol Jolly Rogers.”

“And?” Ben’s inquires, his curiosity awakened. Caleb has told him about his years at sea, of course, but more about the places he has been and things he has done than about the ways of life of men who have the call of the sea in their blood.

“He told us that pirates have this thing called matelotage, where two men kinda marry each other. There are rings exchanged and a ceremony and all, and after, they live together and share everything. If one of them dies, the remaining gets his share of the plunder, widow-like.”

Ben’s mouth falls open. That is…that is against everything he has been raised to believe. It is a sin for two men to be together, everybody knows that - and a crime, besides. _Pirates do it, openly?_

“Hmmm. I guess if it is pirates…” he says feebly. “One shouldn’t take one's moral guidance from those fellows, surely?”

“He told us younglings that pirates are mostly decent folk. Poor men, ex-Royal Navy men, men from ships of trade, asked to join when their ships are plundered by pirates. Fighting men and ferocious when needed, but when not, many are just common folks. Like us.” Caleb turns on his side and even through darkness, Ben can feel his gaze heavy upon him.

“I read a treatise at university about how some claimed their piracy was a stand against the tyranny of British and Spanish in the colonies,” he says thoughtfully, recalling heated debates in the study hall about whether one act of tyranny should be responded to with another of the same kind.

“As I said, like us.” There is finality in Caleb’s voice that renders Ben uncertain.

“What about that first mate: had he been –“, Ben can’t say married, not in that context, “- in a matelotage with someone?”

Caleb chortles. “Old Ezekiel? Who knows. Never said as much – but then again, King’s laws can be only stretched so much even at sea. He didn’t care about those things in his old days, though. He was a loner, but always kind to the men on deck.” 

“Hmmm.” Ben is deep in thought, Caleb’s revelations stirring him in ways he hadn’t expected. There is certainly something to be said about learning about life while living it instead of reading it in musty books. Suddenly he feels awfully inexperienced and naïve.

“Well, then. I guess we ought to get some sleep.” Caleb yawns and stretches, cat-like. For a solid man, his movements are sometimes definitively feline, Ben has noticed.

“Sure – right. For you to enjoy the luxury you fought so hard for.” Ben’s tiredness has evaporated but Caleb is right; they have a long day ahead tomorrow.

“Oh, I’ll enjoy this well enough.” Silence. “Good night, Ben.”

“Good night, Caleb.”

Caleb’s steady breathing soon reveals that he has fallen asleep, but it takes a long time before Ben finds rest – and even longer after he realises that Caleb didn’t actually reveal anything about himself with his story about the pirates.

Probably better that way. Some things are not meant to be spoken aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this raised any thoughts or emotions in you, please don’t be shy to leave a comment! Also come and say hi to me on my Tumblr at [ladytp](https://ladytp.tumblr.com/) if you are so inclined… 😁


	3. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In the previous chapter:** Ben is now Caleb’s superior officer in the army. While they are on the road, Caleb visits him late at night when all Ben wants is to go asleep – but as Ben has no heart to send him away, he invites Caleb to stay. Caleb thinks it the most natural thing for them to share the bed, but Ben finds himself strangely nervous about the prospect. When he eventually joins Caleb, he teasing Ben about their first kiss doesn’t help, neither does his story about the pirate marriage. Ben would like to find out more about Caleb’s views on such things but concludes some things are better left unexplored. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This third chapter explores yet another important milestone in their lives. When I started writing this story, I mentioned that I’ll be climbing up the cliché tree and fall down, hitting every branch on my way down – so sorry about that already in advance! 😁
> 
> The setting of this scene deviates from the canon, being set to late autumn (surprise!) rather than winter.
> 
> Thank you once again to my lovely beta [Lucyemers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers)!

_”So I was the one to pluck your flower, in a manner of speaking. Who’d have guessed?”_

_“Caleb! No need to be crude.”_

_“Hey, what’s crude about flowers? I like ’em!”_

_“I only regret I don’t remember all you said when I was out of it. What I heard was so sweet… not at all manly and soldierly.”_

_“Oh, shut up.”_

_“You said you loved me, I’m sure of that.”_

_“I’ve said that plenty of times.”_

_“Yes, by now, but not then. It was so lovely.”_

_“Lovely my ass.”_

_“That, too.”_

* * *

_**Caleb** _

**It is autumn when Caleb and Ben have each other for the first time**

Caleb Brewster has two enormous problems.

One is immediate, and luckily something he can actually sink his teeth into, knowing how at least _try_ to solve it.

The other is more long-standing and much, much bigger: something he simply doesn’t know how to handle. That problem has sneaked its way firmly into his core and he can’t resolve it no matter how hard he tries.

* * *

His first problem is how to save Benjamin Tallmadge from the aftermath of a near-drowning, and for this, he knows what to do.

His second problem is that he has fallen in love with his best friend and his Captain – and for this, he has no solution.

* * *

After dragging drenched and shivering Ben to the shore, Caleb’s first action is to send the men to collect all the firewood they can find. He ends up with a huge fire and a pile of wood to keep it burning for at least a few days.

His second act is to peel Ben out of his clothes and to cover him with as many blankets as the troops can afford to leave behind. Ben’s skin, what glimpses he can see of it, is translucent and pale – like porcelain cups Ben’s mother used to keep in the cupboard, to be used only for the distinguished visitors. White, bluish, delicate veins visible under the surface.

Caleb shakes his head. _Blazes, Ben, what the hell were you thinking?_

His third act is to build a lean-to to protect Ben from the elements, and the men, who are genuinely worried about the fate of the captain, help him. Ben is well-liked by everyone, but as much as the others want to help, they have their orders and they can’t linger for the sake of one man. After they have done all they can, Caleb chooses young Henderson to take charge of the rest and lead them on. Since there is no official second in command, he chooses the one he knows Ben values the most. He’s not sure whether it is a sign of their trust in Caleb as their captain’s closest confidant or whether he has gained respect on his own, but nobody questions his decision. He assures the men that as soon as Ben has recovered, they will follow and catch up - Caleb can’t even bear to imagine what will happen if Ben doesn’t.

Caleb follows the men as they march away, disappearing behind the trees covered in bright red and yellow leaves. He hears their chatter long after they have disappeared from sight – and after it fades, the silence is deafening. Even the birds have gone quiet, and the waters of the river run smoothly – almost too smoothly for Caleb’s liking.

“Now it’s only you and me, Tallboy,” he says out loud, despite knowing Ben can’t hear him. His unconsciousness worries Caleb more than he would have liked to admit to the others. The morning is just breaking, and not only has it been unusually cold and stormy autumn, but the night temperature has also dropped close to freezing. The combination of cold water and chilly wind has rendered Ben ice-cold.

Once they are truly alone, Caleb crawls under the blankets with Ben, pressing his cold body next to his own. At first it is like touching an ice block, the hard angles of Ben’s body unyielding and ungiving – but as Caleb inches closer and puts his hand gingerly against Ben’s sides, he feels a slight tremor under them. Fast, fluttering, like the heartbeat of a newly hatched chick – but an unmistakable sign of life.

He has stripped down to his shirt, knowing as well as any sailor that when warming someone who has fallen into the cold sea, body heat is the most effective way to do it. Yet he wasn’t able to do it with the others milling about – they wouldn’t have understood and he had neither the time nor the patience to explain.

If Ben succumbs to his ordeal… Caleb refuses to think about the possibility. He can’t. And yet, in addition to the cold that has lowered Ben’s body temperature to dangerous levels, he also swallowed an unhealthy amount of water, judged by the unsettling rattle in his chest when he breathes. Caleb’s years at sea have taught him it’s not always the actual drowning that kills, but that a man fished out of the water and deemed safe can die hours or days later, the water in his lungs giving rise to fever his body is too weak to fight.

Well, it is not going to happen to Ben – not as long Caleb has breath left. Besides, what would he tell Abe and Anna? Not only would he be failing Ben, but his friends, too. Losing Ben would mean an end to Caleb’s military career as well, because with Ben gone, what would there be to fight for? _Independence, liberty_ \- they are just words, and Caleb Brewster doesn’t set much store by words alone.

He buries himself closer to still shivering Ben and closes his eyes.

* * *

For the rest of the evening Caleb holds Ben close, first face to face to warm his core, their bodies flush against each other from head to toe, his arms wrapped around Ben and squeezing him close. It is awkward, to say the least, but in his attempts to get Ben’s blood warm and circulating, Caleb massages his arms, legs and back in smooth, steady motions, making sure he doesn’t leave any spot unattended. Later he swaps their position, pressing against Ben’s back and moulding the contours of their bodies together, seamlessly so there are no gaps where his form ends and Ben’s starts.

Caleb refuses to recognise the truth that this is exactly what he has dreamed of doing, for way too long, for way too intensely. Being close to Ben. Touching him. Having no separation between them. _Yet never like this._

His actions seem to help, though, Ben’s shivers gradually ease and the combined warmth of their bodies warm their little cocoon. Yet it is past midday when Caleb, reassured of this small victory, gets up to heat porridge from his rations, which he tries to spoon-feed to Ben with no luck. Ben shows some signs of life, but his brows are furrowed and he stubbornly presses his lips together, making it all but impossible for Caleb to force the spoon between them. After ending up with more porridge down Ben’s chin than in his mouth, Caleb gives up.

Ben’s coat and breeches hang on the poles near the fire, the heavy fabric still soaked. Caleb wrings more water out of them, then stokes the fire. Looking at his friend’s shrunken form, conflicting feelings of absolute fear and frustration battle inside Caleb. Why in the devil does Ben always have to be so dutiful, so devoted and the perfect soldier? To hell with the swivel gun: Caleb had rather let the whole boat with all its guns and ammunition sink than letting Ben suffer like this.

Ben has taken to war and army life like a duck to water, despite his protestations of how ill-prepared his life of study left him. Caleb sees it, General Scott sees it, even General Washington sees it. And as proud as Caleb is about Ben’s steady rise in the ranks, he also can’t help worrying about the cost it exacts. Endless reports, sleepless nights, resolving petty squabbles of the men under his command, and attending to the increasingly demanding commands of his superiors.

But that is Ben, loyal and dedicated and thinking of everyone else but himself.

* * *

As Caleb had feared, Ben’s fever rises later that evening. He can feel the hot furnace of Ben’s body against his skin, and he listens helplessly to the rattle and gurgling sounds in Ben's chest, his ear pressed against it. This is something he can’t fix – this is a battle Ben has to fight all on his own, while all Caleb can do is to keep him safe and warm and protected.

He gets hot under all the blankets and were he on his own, he would kick them away – but it being to Ben’s benefit, Caleb endures, patiently. A rivulet of sweat runs down his brow and he wipes it away, getting his fingers tangled in his sweaty, messy hair.

During those long hours, listening to Ben’s laboured breathing and feeling his body burning, Caleb does something he can’t remember doing for a long, long time.

He prays.

He is awkward at first, not knowing what to say. _Oy, powerful Almighty, I know it’s been a while since we talked. I probably have no right to ask this of you now, having ignored you for such a long time, but scriptures say you are merciful and forgiving, and besides, I’m not asking anything for meself, but for Ben. He believes in you, he’s a preacher’s son and he doesn’t deserve to die. So please, God, save him. Only you can do it. Amen._

Caleb whispers those words into the night air, staring at the stars twinkling far above. At first he says them only in his mind, but repeating them over and over again with variations gives him a voice. Who is there to hear him anyway? Ben is in deep slumber and somehow saying things aloud makes them more real.

After a while, Caleb starts talking to Ben, too. He tells him things he could never tell if Ben could actually hear him.

_Ben, you bloody bastard, don’t leave me now._

_I don’t know what I’ll do if you do._

_Hell, I didn’t join to fight for the country, I joined to fight for_ you _._

Tightness in his chest suffocates him like an iron band, but he keeps on talking. He murmurs words into Ben’s ear, incoherent words, jumbling words, words not even intended to make sense, just something he has to get off his chest. Before it’s too late. He tells him in the safety of knowing Ben will not hear them, but also in the surety that at least he got to tell him his truths, to lay his soul bare in front of him.

Caleb’s arm rests on Ben’s chest, the fingers of his other hand stroking his sweat-drenched hair in a soft, smoothing motion.

_If you leave me, Benny-boy, I swear I’ll kill you._

_You are all I have._

_Please._

_I love you._

_Damn you._

It is oddly liberating to talk like that, let out the words he has held back for so long – and which he knows he will hold back again after Ben has recovered - as he _must_ recover.

Every now and then he speaks out louder, cajoling Ben to wake up, to say something. Maybe also to check if he hears him – and when he gets no reaction, Caleb continues to whisper his secrets into the night, with only cold stars and a lonely hooting owl in the distance as his audience.

* * *

Looking back, when did it start, this predicament?

Was it when he first returned to Setauket and saw the man Ben had grown into; when he inadvertently kissed him, the memory of his lips haunting Caleb ever since? Or was it during their years apart when his thoughts returned to Ben time and time again? Caleb isn’t sure, but all he knows is that when he heard that both the Tallmadge boys had joined the army, there wasn’t any hesitation on his part to leave his whaling behind and follow Ben.

 _Ben_ , not Samuel, who Caleb also counts among his closest friends. Yes, it was to protect Ben’s ass, as he told him at the time, but his decision had been so instinctive and immediate that it must have been something more.

What is the difference between deep friendship and love anyway? Caleb had thought about it often enough over the last year. Isn’t friendship also love? That caring about the other person more than anyone else in the world, wanting to be with that person above any other. As for the other side of love, its physical manifestation… despite his experiences with fellow sailors; furtive releases at the lower decks, shared secrets and satiation of the body, Caleb has never experienced anything like what he feels towards Ben with any of his dalliances. He had been friends with most of them, but only at the level of mutual camaraderie. When their paths had diverged, Caleb had accepted it and moved on.

But Ben is different.

* * *

Since they shared the bed for the first time over a year ago, things have shifted subtly. In some respects for the better; there is a newly acquired intimacy and openness between them. They have even shared a bed again; always casually, always unplanned. Caleb might be dozing in Ben’s bed in the camp while he scribbles his damned reports late into the night, and when Ben finishes, instead of waking Caleb and throwing him out of his tent as he sometimes does when Caleb overstays his welcome, Ben slips quietly into the bed with him. Or on a reconnaissance mission, just the two of them, they set-up a lean-to in the woods and share blankets with no fuss, no awkwardness.

Yet in other respects it is torture. To lie so close to Ben, to feel his presence, his breath occasionally ghosting against his cheek… On those occasions Caleb wants to touch, to pull him closer, to card his fingers through Ben’s hair.

And more.

If Caleb is honest with himself – and most of the time he is – he wants to put his hands on Ben’s skin to see if he can elicit a reaction out of him, to make him arch towards his touch and let out secret sounds. Thinking of it does no good though, Caleb only getting hard - and then mortified and then exasperated. Ben would never… what Caleb wants is a sin and Ben is too much the result of his upbringing to think otherwise.

Besides, he’d rather die than hurt Ben – and to find out his best friend had such unnatural desires towards him would surely trouble Ben.

Caleb is reasonably sure that Ben wouldn’t condemn him for being as he is. Didn’t he once ask about his ‘educational experiences’ between the ports, sounding genuinely curious rather than judgmental? Caleb had been caught by surprise by Ben’s enquiry, and without meaning to, had shifted the topic to the old-timer and his story about matelotage. Ben had absorbed that revelation with no outward signs of disgust, so… no, he probably wouldn’t judge Caleb too harshly.

Yet it didn’t mean he would be open to such things himself.

* * *

The day changes into a new night, and that morphs into another day. Caleb watches Ben closely, savouring the rare opportunity to do so openly without having to be mindful lest Ben catches him staring. At night, the flickering flame of the fire casts shadows onto those refined features: the straight nose, the cheeks where the fuzz of a few days’ growth has started to give Ben a somewhat rugged appearance. That full bottom lip… Caleb lifts his hand and traces the outlines of Ben's face with his fingertips, not touching, but ghosting, just a small space away from actually making contact with his skin.

As Ben doesn’t react to an accidental brush, Caleb gets bolder. He has laid his hand on Ben’s body many times already to keep him warm, but now he hovers it above Ben’s heart, then presses down to feel it thumping against his palm. _Thump-thump-thump._ It is solid and rhythmic and it soothes Caleb’s worries.

He lowers his hand on Ben’s stomach, then stops. Even if what drives him has nothing to do with carnal desires but simply a need to feel Ben, touch him, be assured of his presence, doing anything that could be misconstrued doesn’t feel right. Not for him, not for Ben.

He raises his hand and lets it rest on Ben’s cheek instead. This is enough, this has to be enough.

* * *

“Mmmmh.”

The sound alerts Caleb from his sleep and immediately he bolts upright, scans hastily their surroundings to make sure everything is fine, then his gaze falls on Ben - whose eyes blink, his face scrunched up in confusion.

“Caleb?”

Caleb’s hand shoots to touch Ben’s brow, which to his relief is only slightly warm. The fever has broken.

_Thank you, Almighty. Caleb Brewster owes you a big one._

“Benny-boy! Time to wake up, finally!” Caleb jumps up and reaches for his coat, hanging from a pole. He is wearing a shirt and breeches, as is Ben, whom he carefully dressed once his soggy clothes had dried. Carefully, reverently, keeping his mind at the task at hand and not allowing it to wander.

“What happened?” Ben squints, looking exhausted. And no wonder, he probably is.

“You decided to take a long nap and I had to stay and look after you, keep you warm.” Caleb ties his stock on – it’s time to return to real life and its stipulations. “You remember you decided in your infinite wisdom to take a dip in the Delaware, don’t you?”

“Oh. I guess I did,” Ben states gloomily. He looks around and grimaces. “Where are we? Where are the others?”

Caleb explains the situation and he sees how pieces fall into place in Ben’s mind. As he guessed, it doesn’t take long before Ben’s sense of duty awakens and he announces that he is fine and it is time for them to leave and find the rest of the army.

Of course he isn’t, which Ben himself reluctantly has to admit after trying to get to his feet too quickly and practically swooning into Caleb’s arms. Caleb catches Ben just in time, holds him in his arms and, after what has transpired over the last few days, it feels natural, easy.

Ben gives up trying to hold himself up and Caleb lowers him onto the blankets.

“I… I guess I’m not quite as ready as I thought I was,” Ben whispers hoarsely and closes his eyes. Caleb brushes a fallen lock of hair away from Ben’s face and smiles.

“Don’t you worry about a thing. I got you.”

The way Ben relaxes and allows Caleb to touch him, not flinching at slightest, makes something warm to bloom in Caleb’s chest. _Trust._ At least he has that. 

* * *

It takes another day and night for Caleb to even contemplate leaving. Ben is more coherent now, talking a bit more, asking questions and getting worried about the stupidest things, like how his men are going to reach their destination without him. Caleb assures him about Henderson taking the men there, and is rewarded by Ben’s grateful acknowledgement of his choice.

Caleb tries to fortify Ben by feeding him pieces of the hare he caught the previous day and skinned and cooked while blabbering to still sleeping Ben everything he could think of, just to keep his worries at bay. Caleb picks the charred meat, hunting for the softest morsels buried inside the ribcage, tearing chunks away from well-cooked legs. He feeds Ben with his fingers and Ben, too exhausted to argue, accepts, opening his mouth with a resigned heave of his shoulders. Caleb places his offering on those red lips and watches as Ben chews and opens his mouth for more.

Caleb averts his gaze and passes the rest of the meat to Ben on a plate.

They sleep next to each other, but Caleb leaves some space between them now, and feels the lack of contact acutely. Just a few nights and the form of Ben in his arms imprinted itself on his body and mind and when it’s gone, it hurts.

The next day they start their journey together.

* * *

Ben is still weakened by his recent brush with death so they take it slowly. Caleb estimates it to take at least two, maybe three days for them to reach their rendezvous – which suits him just fine. He doesn’t mind keeping Ben all to himself for a few days longer before the army’s hierarchy and Ben’s steadfast sense of duty sweep him away once more.

The day goes on uneventfully, the map and Caleb’s unwavering sense of direction guiding them through the dense woodland and along a meandering brook further and further away. Caleb curses their lack of horses and carries most of their provisions in his own back despite Ben’s feeble protestations that he is ready to do his share. The way he leans against a tree or sits down heavily whenever they stop for a break tells Caleb all he needs to know about his friend’s readiness - or rather, lack thereof.

They don’t talk much; Ben likely saving his breath for walking and Caleb content to just trail behind him, savouring the fact that Ben has returned to him. Sun peeks through the clouds making the remaining foliage of the trees explode into a riot of colours. Caleb admires them as they go – as much as the sea and its ever-changing surface fascinates him, there is something to be said about the beauty of the forests too.

All is good in the world and the war can manage without them just a bit longer.

The shadows have grown long by the time Caleb calls for a halt. Ben is pale and sweating from the exhaustion but he stubbornly tries to hide it from Caleb, who tsk-tsk’s but tactfully pretends not to notice.

Caleb unloads his burden and sets up camp efficiently, laying their beddings next to each other. Ben doesn’t argue about wanting to do his share but lays down with a sigh of relief, stretching his long legs wearily, his hair plastered to his forehead. Caleb looks at him, so impossibly handsome even in his current condition. His throat dries up and he has to look away.

The dinner for the night consists of salted fish and dry bread together with the remains of the rabbit, and what it lacks in flavour, it compensates for in sustenance. They eat in silence, each immersed in their own thoughts.

Caleb expects Ben to fall asleep immediately after eating, but instead, he fidgets under his blankets, his eyes open, when Caleb too retires for the night. The night is clear and cold again, although not as freezing as a few nights ago. No clouds are obscuring their view of the stars and Caleb stares at them, finding consolation in their presence, trusting they will hold on to his secrets, so freely shared in their presence.

“Sleep well, Ben. You need your strength for tomorrow’s journey,” Caleb finally says, tucking his blanket up to his chin.

“Good night, Caleb. And --” Ben turns to his side, looking squarely at Caleb. “- thank you. For all you have done for me.”

“Nah, don’t mention it.” Caleb closes his eyes, but Ben is not done.

“I mean it. I know we are friends, but you take such good care of me…” Ben finishes uncertainly, but Caleb refuses to look at him.

He is always uncomfortable when Ben tries to thank him for something. It doesn’t feel right. Caleb knows his worth, he really does, but Ben sometimes behaving as if he did him some special favours, makes him uneasy. As if he wouldn’t do _anything_ for Ben.

“Of course I do. You are – well, you are _you_.” Caleb tries a nonchalant air, making light of Ben’s earnestness. He shifts, yawns, intending it to signal the end of the conversation.

Silence.

“What am I? To you, I mean.” Ben’s voice is low, words coming out hesitantly.

_Everything._

Caleb doesn’t say it out loud, of course.

“You’re my friend. My closest friend, to be exact. Don’t behave as if you didn’t know that already.” Caleb squeezes his eyes shut tighter. Where is this line of questioning coming?

“I think… I thought I heard… I mean, it could have been just a dream…” Ben falters.

It is rare to hear Ben so at a loss for words and Caleb’s stomach churns. _Good God, what did he hear?_ Ben was unconscious when he made his ill-considered confessions, he is sure of it. Or was he?

“Just a dream, Benny-boy. A nightmare, probably.” Caleb pretends to yawn again.

“I… I don’t think so. I did dream, of course, muddled dreams that I don’t even remember now – but what I _do_ remember is you holding me and I felt wonderfully warm, and you were telling me things you have never said before.”

“Just a dream, as I said.” Caleb is determined to save them both from the embarrassment of acknowledging his careless blathering. _Deny, deny, deny._

Another silence.

“It could be dangerous, that kind of talk.”

 _Leave it to bloody Ben to think about the rules!_ Caleb knows as well as any soldier that relations between men are severely frowned upon and if discovered, lead to harsh punishment. But well, he hasn’t exactly done anything, has he?

“If you are so convinced you heard something unsavoury, are you going to report me, then?” Caleb gives up the pretence of sleepiness and opens his eyes. If this is the moment for his secret to come up – purely due to his own stupidity – he wants to face it like a man. He tries to recall his ramblings – did he say anything so incriminating he couldn’t twist it around as being only about their deep, abiding friendship?

“Don’t be stupid. Not only would I never, and secondly, talk is just talk.”

Ah, Ben is truly back. His logic is impeccable, of course, but it still doesn’t tell Caleb what he needs to hear.

“What then? Why don’t you tell me what’s really on your mind?” Caleb turns to his side and stares at Ben, hard. He can take it, whatever Ben has to say. Maybe it was a fool’s dream to try to hide what he feels, maybe it would have come out sooner or later anyway.

Ben looks unsure, his expression guarded. The moon is up and its silver light casts shadows on his face making it appear unnaturally pale. Just like when Caleb carried him out of the water.

_At least he lived._

Finally Ben speaks, with a tone of finality and determination, as if he’s made up his mind about something and isn’t holding back.

“Only that if it was a dream, it was a _good_ dream.”

Caleb freezes.

“And if it wasn’t a dream, I liked what I heard.”

“Jesus, Ben,” is all Caleb can say. His heart starts to thump faster and all traces of true or pretend sleepiness evaporate, leaving him wide awake - and nervous.

Ben takes his time before speaking again, leaving Caleb sweating on tenterhooks.

“I care about you, too. A lot.”

Caleb’s whole body tingles and suddenly he can’t breathe.

“Caleb.” Just his name. Then Ben’s hand sneaks from under his blanket towards him, his fingers curving around Caleb’s own. It is such an innocent gesture and yet it is like a lightning bolt striking Caleb to the core.

They hold hands, Ben’s thumb making small circles against Caleb’s palm. His pupils are blown wide, hiding almost all of the blue, but his gaze doesn’t falter.

Caleb wants to say something. He isn’t sure what; either something remarkably inane and idiotic, or deep and profound. Or both. Or nothing at all.

The man of action in him finally takes over and he pulls Ben closer. Not by force, giving him plenty of opportunities to resist or pull back.

He doesn’t.

When Caleb takes a hold of Ben’s neck with his hand and hesitantly places his lips on Ben’s, it feels like he is _home._

It is what he remembers – but _better_.

It is what has dreamed of – but _better_.

Caleb is nervous, cursing his unruly beard and his overgrown moustache that gets irritatingly even into his own mouth but which he hasn’t bothered to tidy. Will that take Ben out of the moment, to be thus distracted? He tilts his head and brushes Ben’s collarbone with his thumb, sensing shivers going through Ben’s body. Not like when he was shivering from cold, but different.

Ben’s lips are chapped but he responds; unsure at first, then bolder. The faint brush of the beginnings of a beard, the result of going several days without shaving, excites Caleb. His eye has never focussed solely on young, smooth-cheeked boys like some other men’s eyes do; boys that could pass as girls. Ben is pretty, aye, but also manly, and the beard adds a new, thrilling edge to the kiss.

Ben has always been a quick study and proves it with his kiss - and all the things Caleb would like to teach him, flash through Caleb’s mind and he groans.

* * *

As far as amorous congresses go, it is all over much too soon.

_Jesus, Mary and Joseph!_

Caleb’s mind swirls, unfinished thoughts bouncing back and forth, disorientated, directionless, lost… all dwarfed by the overwhelming realisation that what he never imagined would happen, as a matter of fact, just has. His breath hitches in his throat when the realisation hits him, when it _really_ hits him.

He glances down at the top of Ben’s head that is burrowed into the crook of his arm. He, too, is breathing unevenly, still overtaken by the release in Caleb’s capable hands. Not that they seemed so capable for Caleb; he can’t remember ever being so unsure and fumbling, not even during his first experience with a fellow sailor when he was nothing but a green youth, inexperienced and showing more eagerness than skill.

_Christ!_

Caleb had been torn between two warring instincts; wanting to make Ben feel good, worship him with his hands and body, be selfless and service him as he deserved – and yet being hesitant to initiate the act, wary of crossing over some invisible line in his eagerness. What if Ben’s mind was willing but his body hesitating?

Such doubts were soon laid to rest when he had skimmed his hand across Ben’s form, caressing its contours, feeling bold and daring when touching something that had so long been denied to him. Ben had responded hesitantly, but he _had_ responded, bless his brilliant soul, making Caleb want to cry even before he had a chance to show him what it had meant to him.

Ben had been inexperienced, clumsy even. The brilliant dragoon, so perfectly balanced and surefooted on a horse or in the battlefield, he had crashed against Caleb and their foreheads had collided and Caleb had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing – a mad laugh threatening to spill into the open like a burst dam. No, this was not the time for a laugh but for murmured words and hesitant touches of lips on bare skin. Every now and then he raised his head to make sure that Ben was still with him, that he hadn’t stiffened or pulled away or wasn’t staring at him with the beginnings of regret in his eyes.

But no, every time when his eyes met Ben’s, they were smiling and serious at the same time, initial traces of uncertainty replaced by confidence and trust that pierced Caleb as even the sharpest harpoon never could.

He had taken Ben in hand, stroked him, slowly and carefully at first, but then Ben had taken charge of the rhythm and Caleb had followed - as he always did when it came to Ben.

After, Ben reached down to touch Caleb and Caleb directed his hand on his cock, placing his own hand on top, and it took hardly a tug or two when he lost it.

And he is just fine with it.

“Caleb?”

“Mmmmm?”

An unexpected tingle of nerves overtakes Caleb. What they did has changed everything – can they converse as before after such a momentous experience? He feels like he’s walking on thin ice, expecting to break through any moment and plunge into freezing depths.

“What now?”

Caleb casts a sideways look from the corner of his eye and sees Ben looking up to him, all serious.

“We sleep, then we wake up, then we continue towards our troops.” He pretends to appear more confident than he feels. If things just were that uncomplicated.

“Simple as that?”

“It’s as simple as we make it. Now, get to sleep, and I mean it.”

Ben lays his head down but Caleb catches him biting his lip – which he tends to do when he is thinking hard.

 _Gods._ Caleb hopes Ben doesn’t overthink what just happened. That for once he can let things go and just…be.

Ben asks no more questions and soon falls asleep, followed by Caleb just a few moments later, still holding onto Ben.

* * *

The next morning dawns clear and bright, the loud singsong of the birds in the woods waking them up.

To Caleb’s relief, Ben doesn’t show any signs of regret; no eyes darting to the side, avoiding his, no withdrawing away from him as they do their morning chores. He is quieter than usual, but that might as likely be the lingering effects of his fever. He smiles brightly enough when Caleb ribs him gently about eating his full portion before they set on their way, and takes Caleb’s hand readily when he helps him up.

The day is as uneventful as the previous; their route continues along the brook, then leaves it and leads them onto higher ground. If their progress is slower than before and they stop for more breaks, neither of them mentions it – it is as if by mutual unspoken understanding.

Ben is silent, but that doesn’t worry Caleb as such – he only wonders what is going on in that pretty head of his. He knows that what they did is a grave sin in the eyes of the church, and Ben grew up in a reverend’s house, so… Caleb, too, is more silent than he normally would be. He doesn’t mean to and tries to rouse a few times and tell a story or two, but the feeling of skating on thin ice hasn’t fully evaporated and he finds himself tongue-tied more than once.

There is nothing he can do about it, though, so in his pragmatic way, Caleb goes by what he can see and hear with his own eyes and ears. And that is Ben by his side, throwing him an encouraging smile every now and then when Caleb turns to check on his progress.

The terrain is harder than the previous day, most of their journey being uphill, so by late afternoon Caleb judges them to have progressed enough. He doesn’t like the way Ben’s breathing wheezes, nor the paleness of his face.

It is time to try for some fresh meat so Caleb spends a long time tracking game, finally dropping a plump woodcock. Its dab and brown colouring is no defence in the yellow foliage of the autumn, and when Caleb picks up its body, limp but mostly intact on account of him being an excellent shot, unexplained sadness overtakes him. A bright red drop of blood in the bird’s beak reminds him of the deadly game of war he and Ben are involved with.

 _Life and death._ How can he reconcile the euphoric sensation of being so full of life the previous night with the knowledge that either of them could die any day in this foolhardy quest for their country?

Caleb shakes the gloomy thoughts away, concentrating on the more pleasant idling about freshly cooked meat over a fire that makes his mouth water – and it will do a world of good for Ben too.

The easy, quiet companionship continues through the evening, neither of them bringing up what happened. Maybe that is what Ben intends – the incident being a one-off, a slip, and now they are back to normal? Caleb tries to read his friend but finds it impossible. If so… his chest tightens. The thought wounds him, but he knows it could be worse, much worse. Maybe he should count his blessings and be content for what he has. Ben told him he cared about him. A lot. And he let Caleb touch him, kiss him. And he touched Caleb.

If that is all he is going to get, so be it.

Caleb knows that if it is so, he has the strength to pick up the pieces, get up again, dust his coat and soldier on. He’s Caleb-Bloody-Brewster, ain’t he?

Caleb retires first, snuggling under the blanket. Ben sits by the fire, adds a few more logs onto it to keep it burning, then gets up and walks to where Caleb set their beddings in the shade of a large boulder to protect them from the wind. As he gets closer, Caleb’s heart starts beating faster. What will happen now? He clutches the blanket tighter, his knuckles turning white. He wants to say something but no words come out – an unusual experience for him, who usually always finds something to comment on, whatever the situation.

“Caleb.” Ben’s voice is low, soft. His forehead is slightly furrowed but when Caleb looks up, Ben smiles. An unsure smile, but so full of warmth it catches Caleb’s breath.

“Yeah?”

“Make room, will you?”

And that’s it. Caleb lifts the blanket and Ben slips under it. And he reaches for Caleb, and Caleb runs his hands all over Ben’s body – and the ice holds and Caleb doesn’t fall through.

* * *

The next morning Caleb doesn’t want to move. He _hates_ the idea of getting up and dressing – they shed most of their clothes overnight, now clad only in their shirts – and returning to the world.

They lay in the same position as before, Ben snuggled in the crook of Caleb’s arm. He has started to fidget, a sure sign that he is awake, but neither of them makes a move to rise.

Caleb glances at him and indeed, sees that Ben’s eyes are open, he’s staring somewhere in the woods, contemplatively. Sensing Caleb’s movement he raises his eyes to meet Caleb’s.

“Why didn’t you…”

“What do…”

They both speak at the same time and stop at the same time too.

“You first,” Caleb implores. If Ben wants to talk, he is ready.

“Why didn’t you say anything - ever?” Ben purses his mouth and appears infuriatingly determined to dig into the bottom of things Caleb would rather leave undisturbed. Despite the evidence to the contrary, he still isn’t sure about his footing in this new world and he doesn’t want to make a wrong move or say a wrong thing.

Caleb rolls his eyes. “Christ, Ben! How could I?”

“Easily! You could have just opened your mouth and let it out. It’s something you usually have no problem with.” Ben’s hair has fallen onto his face and he blows it away, impatiently. It makes him appear young, and Caleb’s heart melts at the sight of it.

“Even _I_ know that sometimes I’d do better to keep my big trap shut. What if you had reacted badly? Put me in my place? I couldn’t take the risk, Benny-boy.”

“This is wrong – this is a sin. This should _feel_ wrong.”

“So is killing and we are on our way to do just that.”

 _“Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged._ _Then have my lips the sin that they have took?”_ Ben murmurs, seemingly to himself.

“Eh?” Caleb queries, feeling lost about the change of topic.

“William Shakespeare,” Ben replies but doesn’t elaborate further.

 _Oh._ Caleb remembers Ben having mentioned the name before. A play-writer, somewhere in England. Apparently famous. “Yale lessons? They talk about these things at university?”

“In a way, yes.”

Ben contemplates for a while, chewing his bottom lip. Apparently accepting Caleb’s logic and whatever consolation he gains from the Shakespeare fellow, he moves on.

“Caleb, how long have you known?”

Caleb sighs and searches for the answer from the blue sky, stretching above him, cloudless. What can he say? How long is a piece of string?

“Don’t know. Always. Since… when I visited Setauket for the first time. Since I enlisted. Or some time in between.”

“The time when you kissed me?”

“Yeah, that.”

Once again Ben falls silent. By now Caleb’s curiosity is raised; if Ben responded to him as he did… what about him?

“What about you? Did you consider it just now, being put in the position to see my depravity first hand?”

“I don’t know. I knew I was stuck with you ever since – well, like you, always. I just never…” Ben huffs loudly. “No, that’s a lie. I did wonder at times. I just never…”

“Wonder in general, or…?”

Were there others catching Ben’s eye? A sudden flash of jealousy makes Caleb squirm. He is pretty sure Ben can get anyone he wants, a woman or a man so inclined. He is… well, he is _Ben._

Ben’s thoughts must have travelled in the same direction, as shown by his next question.

“Are there – have there been – others? In the army?”

“Christ on a pony, Ben! What do you think I am? No, Jesus, no!” Caleb blows out a noisy breath. Ben can’t be serious!

“I didn’t think, I just wondered. After what you told me about men at sea, you know. After what I have heard about them.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Caleb knows that moment, crystal clear, that he has to be honest. And for once he can be honest about _everything_. No more secrets, no more hiding.

“At sea, it was never… it was just a convenience, a favour, like helping a friend to scratch their back if they couldn’t reach it. Nothing like…”

“…this?” Ben finishes his sentence, for which Caleb is grateful.

“Yeah, nothing like this.”

Ben lays his head on Caleb’s shoulder and they stay like that for a long time. There is no need for words, just hearts beating in a rhythm, their breaths mixing in the cool morning air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find myself pathetically happy about every comment I get, as it suggests I have been able to connect with my fellow fandom members… so if you feel like connecting, please do! Or come say hi on Tumblr [ladytp](https://ladytp.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In the previous chapter:** Caleb is determined to save Ben from near-drowning and the resulting fever after his fall into Delaware. While Ben lies unconscious, Caleb confesses his love in the surety that Ben won’t hear him. Once Ben recovers, he surprises Caleb by not only revealing that he heard – but also that he reciprocates Caleb’s feelings. After their first night of intimacy, Caleb worries about Ben over-complicating things and restoring their relationship back to what it was – but is reassured by Ben the next night. They realise what they share is something that had been brewing for a long time, something unique and precious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was about the time for things to come out in the open – nothing like a brush with disaster to make hidden thing bubble up! You’ll notice the setting of this scene deviates from the canon, being set to late autumn (surprise!) rather than winter. For… reasons…
> 
> Many many thanks to [Lucyemers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers) for betaing!

_”Looking back, I can’t remember why we were so high-strung in the first place. It all turned out fine, didn’t it?”_

_“Must have been all that Yale learning, you making things more complicated than they had to be. Aye, it turned out fine, although…”_

_“Although what?”_

_“I can’t help wondering how a life as a pirate in the high seas with you would have turned out.”_

_“Short, likely. Hanged soon enough, probably.”_

_“Sometimes I like to imagine you as a pirate captain. Twirling your moustache with a golden earring in your ear, fingers decked with golden rings.”_

_“More your look than mine, really. Anyway, I didn’t spend years doing my best to save you from a hangman’s noose just to see you being sent on the gibbets in the Caribbean.”_

_“Me? You’d be hanging there right beside me, had we been caught. But you’re probably right.”_

_“You know I am. As exciting as it could have been.”_

_“Still, sometimes I wonder.”_

****

_**Ben** _

**It is autumn when Ben and Caleb make a pact**

Ben takes in the vista in front of him. It’s nothing he wouldn’t have seen before, and many times: men on horses, their mounts throwing their heads back with whites of their eyes showing, made nervous by the commotion surrounding the congregating troops. Couriers and militiamen darting between the riders, ducking and weaving. Dust from dry ground raised by many hoofs into billowing clouds, shouts and animated discussions blending into a cacophony of sounds.

The army is getting ready for the final march towards York City and their spirits are high. Everyone knows that the war is as good as won, and the ever-present threat of falling in battle, looming above the head of every man alike for the last many years, has been cast aside. There is reckless abandon in the air: the taste of freedom, taste of liberty, taste of relief from danger in everyone’s lips.

Ben can taste it too.

The lines could be straighter and the general order a bit better instead of verging on chaos – but he can’t fault anyone for it. Who cares if one is a bit late in formation or if one’s uniform is a bit askew?

Ben is impeccable as always – not because he has taken extra care today to ensure so, but simply because it is who he is. It would take as much effort on his part to do things properly as it would to slack about. It also gives him confidence – not that he would be lacking it, after all he has gone through and experienced. Even if the collar of his uniform is a bit stifling and the new stock he purchased just for the occasion still scratches a bit, he feels he is ready.

Ben leans in the saddle and pats his horse on the neck. “A few more rides, Brimstone, and we can both retire.”

Brimstone snorts as if understanding his words and knowing better. There will be no retirement for horses, just moving from one task and rider to another. Well, this time it won’t be so. Ben has found an affinity with his horse and when all this army business is over, he is going to buy him from the government and take him along, wherever he goes next.

Ben’s mood darkens. In a way, it will be the same for him as for the horses. Moving from one task to another, not yet knowing what the next one will be.

He tries to shake it away - this is not a day to be gloomy. He should revel only in the positives, the tide of war so thoroughly having turned there will be no more cold winters with scanty portions, hunger and misery. The ships are bringing in more supplies from the continent and food is aplenty. The weather, too, agrees with the men’s high spirits with a warm autumn day, sun shining from a cloudless sky. Ben _should_ be at the top of the world and yet, his emotions are all jumbled up.

Ben sighs and pulls the reins of his horse, taking a position at the front-end of the column. He is only one row back from the aide-de camps, and he sees Lafayette and Hamilton engaged in a deep discussion. Their pace is leisurely, unhurried, and the steady rhythm of the ride makes it easy to let his mind drift… Unfortunately it drifts to the many things he still has to do on the road, tasks both for Washington and Hamilton, letters to write, couriers to send -

“So, will’ya miss this, Tallboy? Riding in front of the troops in your high horse, clad in blue and gold, all grand and splendid?” Caleb interrupts his musings, having sneaked close so surreptitiously that Ben notices him only when he speaks.

“Lieutenant Brewster, good of you to join us,” Ben replies dryly. Heaven knows where Caleb has been for the last day, hidden amongst the heave of activity in the camp. Not that it is unusual – it is just that Ben has missed him. He could have used cheering up to help banish those dark thoughts.

Yet, Ben feels immediately discomfited. Caleb has things to do, he can’t be at Ben’s beck and call at all times and it’s not fair for him to bear the brunt of Ben’s moods. He tries to think of something to say that would take the edge off his remark, but Caleb doesn’t seem fazed. He continues scanning the ruckus around them with a wide grin on his face.

“Wouldn’t for the life of me miss the chance to ride up to York City in the company of ‘misfits and rebels’, as Tory’s like to call us!” he declares triumphantly, turning to Ben and flashing a smile that Ben can’t help but return. Trust Caleb to brighten any moment - he feels better already.

Caleb looks neater than usual, too. Still no uniform – he has steadfastly refused to garb himself in one – but his leather coat is dusted, his stock is brand new and he has cut his hair. One of the camp followers must have helped him in it and Ben appreciates the outcome. He has also tidied up his beard, more than the usual trimming of the moustache on his upper lip – for reasons only he and Ben know.

Caleb seems to sense though that something is off with Ben, as he becomes serious and guides his horse so close to Ben’s that their legs touch. It could be accidental – but Ben knows it is nothing but. Just like Caleb’s smile, this small physical connection between them comforts him.

“What is it, Benny-boy? Aren’t you glad we are finally on our way?”

“Of course I am. It is just…” Ben shrugs. How can he explain that as wonderful it is to finally reach their goal of so many years and finally taste the triumph of victory, there is also the threat of the impending unknown that robs him of sleep at night?

Especially when the reason for his sleepless nights is in front of him, asking difficult questions.

\---

Ben had felt more at peace than ever before in his life after he realised why a part of him had always felt out of place. Since he had found the missing piece to make himself whole again in Caleb. _Everything_ had changed, not only their relationship.

Not that anyone would have noticed any difference between them outwardly as they were already so close in their own little bubble – but _they_ knew.

It had taken Ben a few confusing weeks to reconcile his old beliefs to the new world of challenges and rewards that had opened up before him. To love someone and finally be able to not only recognise but also act on it… it was a huge revelation. But the spectre of shame still hung over their relationship, even if only in secret.

General Washington had noticed Ben’s changed behaviour but luckily didn’t question it. It was common for men - officers and foot soldiers alike - to experience internal struggles in times of war. For some, it was about their conscience, for some about their patriotism, and for some about something more personal. Washington knew that and tactfully gave Ben some respite – and eventually Ben made peace with himself and emerged to the other side newly confident, self-assured, and full of extra determination to tackle his growing tasks.

And Caleb was by his side every step of the way.

They have been careful, always mindful about the risks of being caught. Always looking over their shoulder, aware of their surroundings and ears pricked for any sign of unwanted intrusion. Fortunately, so far, their luck – or caution – has paid off.

Stolen moments, secret trysts, scouting missions that, strictly speaking, don’t _necessarily_ require Ben’s presence, but he makes good excuses for them just the same. There are surprisingly many opportunities to be together when one sets one’s mind on it.

At first it is exciting and daring, Ben’s pulse races and stomach flutters when he makes his way to their secret assignment. Later, once they get to know each other’s bodies and reactions as well as their own, new kinds of sentiments emerge: contentment, familiarity, a feeling of belonging. Those feelings help Ben through the hard times, the battles lost, comrades fallen, hunger and cold.

They learn to curb impulses that threaten to come up so naturally; touches, looks, being too close to each other. Instead, they develop a language of their own to use in the company of others. An absent-minded rub of one’s wrist or neck, pushing one’s fingers through one’s hair; those gestures can convey so much.

Although Ben’s thoughts still drift every now and then to Caleb’s unbelievable story about pirates openly living their true life, he knows that to be only a flight of fancy. Their world is what it is, they both know their role in it and must adapt.

\---

As the evening comes and the camp settles for the night, Ben walks through it, enjoying the cheerful atmosphere. Men are congregating in small groups around campfires and when Ben passes one, he is called to join in. He sits down to cheery greetings. He is closest to the fire and the smoke drifts into his eyes, making them sting.

Henderson - a newly minted captain – hands him a cup. “A toast is surely in order, Major! Soon this all will be over and we can get on with our lives!”

Ben accepts and takes a drink. It is ale, and surprisingly, not too bad. He savours the taste as it goes down.

“A toast to General Washington and his fighting men!” he salutes back and every man raises his cup, many repeating the toast. They drink, and the talk drifts to other matters, men sharing what they will do next. Buckley from Philadelphia will return to his father’s saddlemaker business, Browne from White Plains will go back to his farm. Henderson tells Ben that he would like to stay in the army, maybe find a career in it during the peacetime.

Ben looks around the circle at the smiling faces of the men under his command. He thinks of the many faces that are not there and raises another toast to lost comrades – but only silently. He doesn’t want to deflate the jolly atmosphere with his morbid musings.

After having stayed for an acceptable time and having refused the offer of a meal, Ben stands up and gives his excuses. He knows he will have a visitor soon – someone he can’t wait to see again.

As Ben guessed, Caleb shows up in his tent with a bottle of contraband whiskey.

“Right, then. Spit it out, Benny-boy.” Caleb procures two cups from some mysterious pocket of his coat and pours healthy doses of the hard stuff into them. He sits down comfortably on Ben’s bed, then hands one to him.

Ben swirls the drink in his hand, sniffs it cautiously, then throws it back in his mouth in one go.

“There goes my boy!” Caleb grins and reaches to pour Ben another drink, swallowing his own and filling his cup as well.

“Thank you, Caleb. I think I needed it.” Ben takes his time with his second drink, the first still making its way down his gullet, burning like hell as it goes .

“So what’s making you sulky as a priest in a whorehouse? We have _won_ , in case you haven’t noticed.”

“We have – or we will, as soon as the official peace negotiations are concluded. And I’m glad, please believe that I am. It’s just...” Ben shrugs his shoulders, not knowing how to convey his conflicted emotions. “…what happens after?”

Caleb’s grin disappears and for a moment Ben feels bad at inflicting his sour thoughts on his best friend.

 _(Lover_. Sometimes he tastes the word in his mouth when he is alone.)

“Oh. That.”

They drink their whisky, and Caleb’s silence tells Ben that he is not quite as unaffected as he makes it appear. They haven’t discussed it, but with the war coming to an end, it means the end of their official engagement as well.

Ben doesn’t know what he is going to do after he is released from the service. Go back to teaching? Go back to university for a higher degree? Stay in the army permanently, or attach himself to one of the many generals taking up positions in the new government?

And what about Caleb?

“So what do you plan to do next?”

Leave it to Caleb to bravely bring up the topic they both have avoided so far. _Always first to charge._ Ben hunches his shoulders, embarrassed about being such a coward not to ask that question first.

“I don’t know. I _honestly_ don’t know. I could go back to teaching. I have been offered a post in the new administration. Or I guess I could go back to Setauket to help my father.” Ben chews his lip, then glances at Caleb, his unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Me? I don’t know either. There’s always whaling – although I’m not so keen on adventures at sea as I was before. Had my fill of them in this war.” Caleb frowns. “There’s always smuggling. I seem to have a knack for it.”

“Caleb! We didn’t fight this war for an independent nation with its own laws for you to start immediately breaking them,” Ben chastises Caleb, amused despite his indignation.

“You’ve never minded when I did it in the war,” Caleb smirks, knowing full well how crucial the cover story of his smuggling was for their ring. Without it, they wouldn’t have had such freedom to operate without raising suspicions in the British.

It is odd, almost as if in order to hide a big transgression, one can commit a smaller one – and everyone assumes it’s all there is to it.

“If I accepted the government offer, I’d probably be able to secure you a post too. They know you and what you can do, I’m sure it could be arranged.”

Caleb stares at the bottom of his cup. It’s empty again, judging by his expression. “Nah. It’d be an office job, or charting some dispatches around or something equally dreary. I’m not suited to that kind of work, Ben. At war, there was at least more at stake, a purpose.”

Of course Ben knew that – but he had to try. Any kind of stratagem that would allow the two of them to stay together. He leans back in his chair, fidgeting with his glass. The strong drink on an empty stomach makes its presence felt and his head feels light.

“You know, I might stay on land for a while. Might even go back to Setauket. There are other things I could do – like blacksmithing.”

Ben’s head jerks up and he stares at Caleb. _Blacksmithing?_ He has never heard Caleb expressing interest in the occupation before.

“They make a good living and I know a man in Fairfield who’d like to sell his smith, offered to teach me the skills as well. I am nifty with tools and good with my hands – so why not?” Caleb’s brown eyes search Ben’s and for a moment Ben is at a loss for words.

“I… I could come back too, become a teacher. We could…” Before he gets any further, Caleb leans over, puts a finger to Ben's lips and hushes him. Only quickly, removing his finger as soon as Ben stops talking.

“Ben, Ben, Benny-boy. Ain’t gonna to be like that. You know it as well as I do. It just…” Caleb pulls away and scrubs a hand across his face. “…it isn’t done. Not in this world.”

Ben’s stomach drops. He knows Caleb speaks sense. It _would_ be more difficult in peacetime to justify such an intense relationship as they have now, especially on a small island where people know each other’s business.

“We could go west,” he suggests, hopefully. “They are giving away land grants to those who are willing to settle there. Two war veterans working on a farm is not such a far-fetched notion.”

Caleb throws his head back and laughs. “You? A farmer? No disrespect to you, but I’d be a better teacher than you a farmer.”

Sheepishly Ben has to admit the truth; he would be wasted on a plot of land. He’s pretty sure he could make a living if need be, but to waste all his schooling and skills…

“Do you have better ideas, then? We abscond to the high seas and become pirates?”

Caleb erupts into another bout of laughter.

“I make it known I’d be an excellent pirate,” Ben says, his face reddening. “I can command men, I am cunning and deceitful when I need to be. With you by my side with your knowledge of the sea, we could make it.” Yet even when speaking, Ben knows it to be just a fancy conjured by a desperate man, clutching at straws.

After recovering from his mirth, Caleb sobers enough to lean over again to touch Ben’s cheek, gently, his calloused hand resting on it for a moment before pulling away.

“I know, Ben, I know. Nonetheless, as thrilling as life as a pirate with you sounds, we both know it ain’t gonna happen.” He stops, looking unusually thoughtful. It’s as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to proceed – which is extremely rare for Caleb.

“What, Caleb?” Inklings of panic start to grow inside Ben. What could make Caleb tongue-tied?

Caleb sighs from deep within, looking tired all of a sudden. “You know, I have thought of settling down. Growing roots, maybe even starting a family.”

In response to Ben’s widened eyes, he continues. “You have seen Woody and Mary and Sprout together. They look happy. Settled. It doesn’t look like a bad life. To leave something behind, to pass all that we’ve been fighting for to another generation, to make it better.”

“A family? You, marry?” The notion sounds ridiculous to Ben.

“Why not? It looks like Annie is going back to Selah, too. Theirs may not be an earth-shattering love story, not like with her and Woody, but they get along. They share the same values and work well together. It might not be such a bad life to share it with someone you get along with, you know?”

 _If you can’t share it with someone you love,_ hangs unsaid between them.

Ben knows that Caleb is not completely averse to female charms. He has had women both before and after they got together, although just a few times. The first time it happened _after_ , Caleb came to him full of regret, squirming and looking genuinely miserable until Ben granted him absolution. His downfall had been a bar wench in one of their regular haunts, a redhead who had fancied Caleb for a long time, and in a moment of weakness, and aided by a few too many whiskeys, he had eventually succumbed.

That had been an odd experience. Ben would have expected to be more jealous or bitter about it, but in truth, he only felt sorry for Caleb’s wretchedness. Later, when trying to analyse his reaction, he came to the realisation that what the two of them had was so unique that no ordinary affair could come between it. Especially not one with a woman – had Caleb gone with another man, he might have felt differently.

Caleb had reacted much the same when Ben had told him about Sarah Livingston.

No, no woman can come between them. And if Caleb wants a family and children, a woman is undoubtedly required.

“Well, if you put it that way…” Ben mutters, unable to look Caleb in the eye. It still stings. Marriage means living together, being beholden to someone about one's comings and goings. Would Caleb still have time for him?

“I just did - and you might consider it too. You like children, don’t you? You’d make a good father.”

Ben pours the rest of his drink into his mouth and swirls the potent brew for a moment before swallowing it. _Wife? Family?_

He knows he is a good marriage prospect and many eligible brides and their eager mothers already circle him. He doesn’t mind women either, particularly. The interlude with Sarah was pleasant enough, especially after he got over his initial trepidation.

Yet it is not something he has ever envisioned. The notion of tying himself to another person for the rest of their lives… the responsibilities, expectations. _Without Caleb._

“What about us?” Ben eventually voices his fears – the question on which everything else hinges. He simply can’t imagine not having Caleb in his life. He _can’t._

“Us?” Caleb’s voice is low and silken soft, like a caress. “There’ll always be us. Neither of us would exactly drop from the end of the earth, would we?” His gaze is soft, seeing right through Ben and into his soul. From his behaviour, Ben knows that he hasn’t been the only one plagued by these thoughts, not the only one to worry about their future.

He closes his eyes. Only seeing Caleb when they are able to sneak away from their respective lives… Could he do it?

“Come here”, Ben mutters, not opening his eyes. He needs Caleb’s closeness, right now. The tent is made of sturdy canvas, there is only one solitary candle burning low at his desk and it can be snuffed out. No incriminating shadows shall be projected for the outside world to see. It is late, the camp is celebrating and nobody needs Major Tallmadge or Lieutenant Brewster for a while.

But they need each other, badly.

\---

The rigours of the journey pull them apart for the next few days. Ben sees Caleb, but only fleetingly on his way here or there, which is not unusual. They both have their hands full and it is easy to get immersed in many tasks instead of wallowing in unsettling thoughts.

On their third day on the road, Ben is riding in the front again, the thrum and hum of men behind him only a soothing backdrop to a perfect day. The late autumn sun shines directly onto his face and he closes his eyes, savouring the lingering warmth which he knows will soon turn to winter gales. Brimstone’s gait is steady, and for a moment, he is at peace with life and himself.

He misses Caleb, of course, but his longing is tempered by the surety that he will see him soon again and they can find a moment to steal for themselves…

Ben’s eyes snap open.

_It could be like that, after._

What did Caleb say? _There’ll always be us._

Now, after truly realising what Caleb had meant, Ben straightens in the saddle, causing Brimstone to pick up the pace. His mind works feverishly and the more Ben thinks about it, the faster the rush of excitement courses through his veins.

They _could_ do it: settle down with their chosen life, lives suited to fit with who they _truly_ are, with no compromises – and still keep on seeing each other. In stealth, of course, but isn’t that what they have been doing for years already? And if they aren’t able to cover their activities, what good have their years of spying and sensitive operations done them?

Ben sees Hamilton throwing curious looks in his way, and he smiles back at him. Many men are on edge, the nervous anticipation of the culmination of their campaign in everyone’s mind. Let that be the explanation to Ben’s mood swings too - he doesn’t mind.

Ben settles his horse and starts to tackle the new opportunity in front of him the only way he knows: systematically analysing it, step by step, scenario by scenario. As he does that, a thrill of anticipation starts to bubble inside him and he can hardly wait to find Caleb to tell him all about it.

\---

Ben finds Caleb that same evening, sitting with a group of men from another regiment.

“Lieutenant Brewster, a word, please.” Ben nods his head in greeting to the men, his demeanour all official, army-like. They raise their hands in a half-hearted salute, the manner of which Ben knows is less directed at him rather than at the fact that they are on their break, not engaged in official activities.

“If you say so, Major Tallmadge,” Caleb sighs. Nobody could detect anything else in Caleb’s response but a reluctant acknowledgement of his superior officers request as what it is, a command.

While Caleb is picking up his weapon from the ground and getting up, Ben rubs his left wrist and catching that, Caleb’s eyes lit up. It’s one of their signals, the intensity of the rubbing conveying different degrees of the message, ranging from tender _‘I need to touch you’_ to an outright ferocious _‘ravage me, NOW’_. He also runs his finger lightly under his nose to indicate he needs to talk, seriously and in private.

They walk side by side through the bustling camp, not exchanging a word until they reach Ben’s tent. He steps in first, closely followed by Caleb, who lets the tent flaps fall securely closed before pulling Ben by his labels into a suffocating embrace.

“Christ, Ben.” Muffled voice against his shoulder, and then Caleb is kissing Ben; hungrily, greedily, devouring him with an intensity that is almost frightening - and Ben responds.

Caleb is full of contradictions when it comes to the physical side of their relationship. Sometimes he is soft and – if Ben could think of a better word, he would, but all he can think of is – cuddly. Sometimes he is playful and adventurous, challenging Ben to do things he can’t look back to without blushing, and sometimes he is like now; commanding, assertive, domineering, with a touch of neediness. To submit to Caleb’s will at those times gives Ben a secret thrill and usually he cherishes it - but today he has things to say.

Ben pulls away, resisting Caleb’s attempts to pull him back.

“Caleb, Caleb, we need to talk. First.”

Caleb’s face contorts into a grimace, then he sighs, his shoulders heaving. Before Ben has a chance to begin describing his revelations, Caleb bursts into a torrent of his own.

“I’ll come with you. If you take that position with the government, I’ll be there. If you become a teacher, I’ll be your aide. If you want to go back to the university – well, I’m sure they’ll need a groundskeeper or some such. You won’t get rid of me that easily, Tallboy.” Caleb stares hard into Ben’s eyes, but then his gaze wavers and moves to some invisible spot only he can see at the wall of the tent.

Ben sags into a chair, hardly believing what he hears. Hadn’t it been Caleb who only a few days ago mused about settling down back in their home town and starting a family? Who saw clearer than Ben the impossibility of their situation?

“Caleb… what are you talking about? You said yourself those things are not for you. I could never ask you to sacrifice your wishes and desires for me.”

Caleb turns back at Ben, his brown eyes pleading.

“Jesus, Ben. You don’t think we will last if we part ways and I couldn’t bear that. I’ll take anything but that.”

Ben’s heart melts for the thousandth time in the face of Caleb’s sincerity. He is a hard man, shrewd and devastatingly ruthless when he needs to be, but also the softest and most vulnerable person Ben has ever seen.

But just for him.

“It doesn’t have to be that way. That’s what I wanted to talk about with you. I have given this a lot of thought these last few days and I think I have found a solution.” In the name of honesty, Ben has to continue. “Or rather, _you_ found the solution – it only took a few days for me to catch up.”

Caleb cocks his head and finally sits down on Ben’s bed, opposite to Ben and so close that their knees touch.

“What solution?”

Ben puts his both hands on Caleb’s knees, fixes his gaze on his and clears his throat.

“You were right. You usually are. Our lives will soon be different again, the war won’t be the common cause that unites us.”

Caleb nods but says nothing.

“We both have a knack for different things. You are good with your hands and think quickly on your feet, you solve problems and make things _happen._ I could never do what you do.”

Ignoring Caleb’s raised eyebrows, Ben continues. “I am good at talking, planning, working with people. Or so some say. I also want to help people; support them and ensure that this new world we create makes everyone’s lives better.”

Caleb leans back and nods thoughtfully. “You would be useless in blacksmithing, that much is true. And though I can talk – nobody can deny that – you are good at hobnobbing with all the squabbling officials and high society fellows.”

“Yes, and that’s why if we tried to do things we are not good at, we both would only become miserable. If we did it only for each other’s sake, we might start hating each other, eventually.”

“Horseshite. I could never hate you.” Caleb places his hands on top of Ben’s. They are rough and warm and, despite the broadness of his palms and bluntness of his fingers, Ben knows their touch can be as delicate as a butterfly dancing on his skin.

He swallows, momentarily distracted.

“I still don’t know for sure what I am going to do, but I think I will try to find a position of my own rather than become dependent on the whims of politicians,” Ben continues. “You – you can become a blacksmith or a whaler or a smuggler – I honestly don’t care even if you do that, except I can’t bear to think of the dangers you would be exposing yourself to. The point is, you need to live _your_ life, not mine.”

Caleb opens his mouth but before he has a chance to say anything, Ben speaks over him.

“But it will _not_ be the end of us. We will still meet, we will still steal time to be together. We have done so for years - we can continue doing it. Yes, the distance will present some challenges, but nothing insurmountable. We just have to be clever about it.”

Ben stops and looks at Caleb expectantly. It is not exactly a fully formed plan, but it’s something, isn’t it?

Caleb mulls it over for a moment, frowning. The stiffness of his body, so tightly coiled just a moment ago, seems to relax, gradually.

“So it wouldn’t be an end?”

“Of course not! How could it?”

“How would we do it? There’d be no more scouting missions for you, no matter what position you ended up with.”

“We’ll think of something.” Ben reaches for Caleb’s hands and turns them over in his own. Every line in them, every scar and scrape and callus - and touch – has been imprinted into his memory. When he raises his eyes, some of Caleb’s usual mischievous twinkle has returned to his eyes.

“I could make it my business to visit my customers personally, wherever you are.”

“What customers?”

“Whatever. I’d find some.”

“If you want to go back to Long Island, I could visit it regularly. My father is still there, after all.”

“It would be better if I didn’t settle in Setauket then – too small a place. Fairfield or even Rocky Point would be fine.”

“What about marriage?”

Caleb shrugs his shoulders. “For children, one apparently needs to, and I wouldn’t mind having youngins running around. It’s nice enough to be Uncle Caleb, but I reckon it would be fun to have some of my own.”

“Maybe you could marry a widow and get an instant family; the whole lot in one go?” Ben smiles but then gets serious. There are too many widows with husbands lost to the bloody conflict of the recent years, and it’s nothing to be made light of.

“Maybe.” Caleb winks. “I’m sure I’ll manage to find someone.”

“Just make sure she treats you right. I’d hate to see you suffering from a nagging wife, or worse. Find someone you can laugh with.”

“Aye, that’d be good. A good cook, too. Someone who takes no shite from anyone.”

“So practically someone like you? Except for the cooking part, of course,” Ben japes.

“Hey, I’m an excellent cook! The things I can do with a hare or a game bird…” Caleb pouts, pretending to be hurt, then turns the tables on Ben.

“What about you? Some society girl, no doubt.”

“Hmmmm.” Ben hasn’t given the matter any particular thought as yet – there will be time for it later. Yet he has to admit that if he would like to proceed in a career in public service, it wouldn’t hurt to marry among high society. They might be dropping the yoke of the British with their aristocratic system, but it’s hard to change the whole society in one go. One’s status and connections still matter, so maybe a general’s daughter, or a congressman’s… He is not proud to consider those things, but realities are what they are.

“Just as long as you don’t choose any empty-headed coquette. She must have the same values as you do, Tallboy.” Caleb taps Ben at the shoulder. “Pretty doesn’t hurt either. You’d make a magnificent couple.”

They smile at each other, stupidly.

“Look at us. Here we sit, picking out each other’s brides,” Ben laughs.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I am solely after my own selfish interests. When I get to see you, I don’t want to waste my time listening to your marital problems. Not when all I want to do is to knock’ya,” Caleb smirks.

Ben blushes. After everything they have done, Caleb’s bold references still sometimes affect him that way. They can be crude, blunt, raw – but undeniably arousing.

“As long as your missus doesn’t mind you leaving her and the sprouts at least once a month for your mysterious trips, I’ll accept your decision, whoever it is,” Caleb says, squeezing Ben’s shoulder one more time before letting go.

“Once a month, every second month, less or more – we have to devise a plan and give it some careful thought.”

“Trust it to Major Tallmadge to come up with a perfect plan. Neatly recorded in three copies, for me to follow it to the letter.” Caleb is teasing him, Ben knows, but he doesn’t mind.

“To the letter? When have you ever followed any of my plans _exactly_ to the letter?” Ben raises his eyebrow, pretending to be serious – but soon has to give up his pretence.

“Always, Benny-boy, always, when it comes to us.”

Ben notices a big tear in Caleb’s breeches, just above the knee. Must be freshly obtained, the threads still raw, a glimpse of skin peeking through. Absentmindedly he puts his finger through the tear and is rewarded with a deep in-breath by Caleb when it touches his skin.

“Can you stay the night?” Ben changes the subject .

“Yeah. I’ll leave soon, make rounds around the fires and complain loudly how my cruel taskmaster Major assigned me some unreasonable tasks again – and then sneak back here a bit later.”

“Good. Do so.”

Caleb leans forward and seems ready to pull him in for a kiss before leaving when he suddenly stops. His face lightens up.

“You know what we should do? A blood vow!”

“You can’t be serious!” Ben squirms, not sure whether he is more amused or alarmed that a man of Caleb’s age is even talking about such childish things.

The blood vow had been the most serious form of bond and promise in their youth, taken only for the most important matters. Like when he, Samuel, Caleb and Abe had accidentally torched Farmer Marshall’s hayloft when trying to warm themselves with a fire behind it and vowed never to turn each other in. Marshall was well-known for his bad temper and had he found out who had done the deed, they would surely have been horse-whipped. Even if it had been purely an accident.

As far as Ben knew, they all had kept that vow, as Marshall had been heard complaining years afterwards about vagrants and drifters who must have done the deed.

“We’re not ten anymore!” Ben argues – but to no avail. Once Caleb is set on something, it is useless to try to talk him out of it.

In no time, Caleb whips his hunting knife from his belt and grabs Ben’s hand back into his, exposing his thumb.

“What were the words again? _‘I solemnly swear by my immortal soul’? “… if I break my word may the earth drink my blood’?”_ He smiles at Ben, corners of his eyes crinkling, and while Ben looks on helplessly, Caleb presses the tip of his blade against the skin on Ben's thumb. It is sharp – Caleb’s tools always are in impeccable shape – and soon the crimson flow wells from the wound.

“You now.” Caleb holds out the knife to Ben’s other hand and he takes it, gingerly. If Caleb is committed to this juvenile ceremony, so be it.

Ben cuts through Caleb’s hardened fingertip, and once his blood starts to flow, they hold their hands in front of them and let a few drops fall on the tent floor.

 _“I solemnly swear by my immortal soul never to drift apart from my beloved. I swear to see him and be with him as often as I can in the years to come, until the end of my living days. If I break my word, may the earth drink my blood.”_ Caleb speaks the words first, Ben repeating them after him.

 _Beloved_. Their language is usually not flowery with such expressions, although not completely devoid of them either. That what is between them is _love_ is mutually acknowledged and needs no verbal affirmation when their acts speak the more powerful language. But this, this calls for words and Ben is glad Caleb chose them well.

Then, in mutual but wordless understanding, Ben lifts Caleb’s still bleeding thumb into his mouth as Caleb does the same to his.

The taste of blood is tangy and copper in his mouth, and he flicks his tongue against the wound. Yes, it is childish and immature and yet… His father would be shocked to hear it, but suddenly the holiness of the vow overwhelms Ben. The blood oath is older than the church, older than any form of Christianity he knows of. Ancient and sacred.

Having concluded the matter, Caleb slips his knife back into his belt and examines Ben's wound critically, and after having satisfied himself that it has stopped bleeding, he finally takes Ben’s face between his hands and presses a kiss on his lips.

“Well then, Tallboy. Now you are stuck with me.”

“And you with me.”

“Aye.”

It is as simple as that: their promises made, their pact sealed. And Ben wouldn’t want it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill… if this story has raised any emotions or comments in you, please let me know! 😁 I have also updated my side blog on Tumblr to house my latest fascination with ‘Turn: Washington’s Spies’, so if you’d like to connect there, come say hi in [ladytp-annex](https://ladytp-annex.tumblr.com/) (or on my main blog [ladytp](https://ladytp.tumblr.com/))!


	5. Rendezvous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In the previous chapter:** The war is ending and Ben is worried about its impact on his secret affair with Caleb and how they could continue it. To his surprise, Caleb seems to consider settling down and even having a family – what would that do to them? After mulling the matter over, Ben realises that they living their own lives doesn’t mean the end of their relationship, if they don’t want it to. They agree to keep on seeing each other in years to come, and swear a blood oath upon the matter; an ancient, sacred vow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now into a less explored area in fandoms; love at older age. Yes, younglins, even people over 30, 40, 50 and 60 can experience love and passion! And these two deserve it all, and each other… 
> 
> Thank you again, [Lucyemers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers) for betaing this story.

“That little cottage surely saw some good times.”

“Yeah, and the one on the mainland, too.”

“And that inn we used to frequent, near Bridgeport, you remember?”

“How could I forget!?”

“You were such a lovely wife, preparing everything in advance for my arrival -”

“Wife? If anyone was _my_ little wife, it was _you_.”

“At least you nagged like a wife, I grant you that.”

“If reminding you to look after your health and not work yourself to an early grave is nagging, well then, I own up to it.”

“Maybe it helped. I had a good long run, didn’t I?”

“All thanks to me.”

“You certainly helped to make it a good one, more than you know.”

“So did you. _Wife._ ”

_**Caleb** _

**Every autumn – and many times in between - Caleb and Ben reunite**

Caleb is the first to get to the cottage, brushing cobwebs aside as he walks through the door of the back entrance that only he uses - as far as he knows. Spiders have taken up the residence in earnest in the little alcove opening up to the kitchen and he makes a mental note to take the broom one of these days and clear all of them away. Or maybe not. What harm have the spiders done for him, personally? Maybe he should let them be, just clear the old webs away.

The house is one of the cottages in Reverend Tallmadge’s old estate. After the Reverend passed away several years ago, Ben sold the main house and the majority of the estate but kept this one. He set up a charity in the name of his late father to support the education of underprivileged but talented youth, and that gives Ben an excuse to visit his old hometown a few times a year – and Caleb inevitably makes business there at the same time. Or when he has no official business, he just sneaks in and out, still knowing the place like the back of his hand, and no one the wiser for it.

Caleb knows he’s early, Ben is still on his way, but that had been his plan. Caleb lives closer anyway, and it gives him enough time to open the windows to let fresh air in to flush away the stuffiness in the rooms. The window sill in the parlour is stuck and he spends a long time knocking at it, shifting the glass inch by inch, slowly and patiently, not keen to deal with the broken glass and mess that would result from him being too heavy-handed. The house is old and a bit warped, but there is no point in fixing it properly, considering how little use it gets.

After winning his battle with the window, Caleb stacks wood and kindling into the fireplace, ready to light once the sun goes down behind the horizon. He also walks back outside to check on the reserves to ensure they last for the next few days, bringing in a few loads and tipping them unceremoniously next to the fireplace. The autumn has been warm and pleasant but winter is just behind the corner, stalking patiently for the moment it will pounce and bring its icy breath across the land. Tonight, maybe, and Caleb wants to be ready. He has no plans to leave the house to chop firewood once Ben gets there.

Caleb whistles as he goes about his chores, next stacking neatly the pies he bought from the nearby village on his way in the kitchen cupboard. Cheese and bread and apples too – although he suspects Ben will bring something as well. Probably something fancy: pigeon pie or roasted fowl or some such. Not that Caleb minds, he appreciates good food as much as the next man, and after years of eating mainly fish and salted beef, fancy food flavoured with exotic spices suits him just fine.

He also plops on the table two bottles of whiskey and two of wine. In his old age Ben has become more of a connoisseur of the red and white stuff and Caleb likes to remember such things. The merchant who sold him the bottles assured him they were the best French varieties that distinguished gentlemen of the colonies appreciate – and if Ben is not one such, who then? Caleb had to remind the man then that the colonies were no more; only the sovereign states of America that he and his fellow continentals fought long and hard for. The man had blanched and started to stutter and Caleb had had no heart to tease him any further.

He smiles thinking of the incidence, feeling just a bit sorry for the man. Yet he hopes that Ben likes the selection and if he doesn’t – well, Caleb is going to hold the merchant responsible for that. He doesn’t mind wine as such but prefers his whiskey any day.

Caleb also checks the bedroom upstairs, the larger one at the back overlooking the forest. Ben has engaged a local woman to prepare the house for the times when he is coming, and Caleb wants to make sure she has done her job well. He couldn’t care a hoot about a few speckles of dust here and there, not the way womenfolk seem to, but he wants everything to be nice and to the standard Ben is used to in his fancy house in his fancy part of the town.

Caleb’s gaze sweeps across the room: the sparse furniture consisting of the bed, the side table with a washbasin, a small desk and a chair, taking in also the lace curtains in the window and the walls decorated with needle-works depicting biblical phrases and scenes. He sits down on the bed, brushing his hand against the crisp linen, fresh and clean, smiling at himself for paying attention to such domestic matters.

The years might have blunted excesses of youthful lust and desires, but there is still no place he’d rather be than in Ben’s arms, snuggling against him in the surety of their bond.

The sound of hooves at the front alerts Caleb and he stands up to peek through the window. Yes, it is Ben, looking stately and impressive in his tailored suit on his horse. His cavalry days are still obvious from the way he sits in the saddle, upright but at the same time at ease. Despite his advancing years, evidenced by his greying hair and the deep lines of his face, he is still strikingly handsome, every inch of him exuding the confidence of the eminent politician.

Ben glances towards the roof and seeing smoke rising from the chimney, he searches the windows, his gaze stopping at Caleb. He smiles then, his face transforming from a distinguished older statesman to that of a young soldier, of a youth Caleb remembers from long ago.

Even after all these years, Caleb’s heart turns a few summersaults in his chest at the sight of him.

He rushes out of the room and down the stairs, reaching the front door at the precise moment Ben steps in.

“Ben, you bastard!”

“Caleb!”

Ben is sweaty and dusty from the road and he smells of autumn when Caleb embraces him; pine and moss and tobacco and the essence of _him_ , the scent so deeply ingrained into Caleb’s mind that he can bring it into being just by thinking of his lover.

And they are together again, simple as that.

* * *

The intervening years have been good for them both. Ben did as he intended, taking responsibility for his fate into his own hands and becoming a man of renown: first a distinguished postmaster, and now serving in the House of Representatives and dabbling in heaven knows how many other ventures and businesses. As Caleb had known, Ben is right at home in a public role and it makes Caleb ridiculously proud. As if he could be any prouder of Ben than he already is.

Ben married too, to a bride he brought for Caleb’s approval before proposing. Ben’s Mary is a good-natured girl from a good family, and when Caleb first met her, he wasn’t sure which one of them was more nervous, him or Mary. Ben made no secret about Caleb being his oldest and best friend and poor Mary stammered and tripped over her words telling Caleb how glad she was to make his acquaintance. Caleb had glanced over her shoulder at Ben, who had grinned like a fool in the background, raising his brow in an expression that he knew told Ben as clearly as if he had said it out loud: ‘ _Really?_ This _is the level-headed girl you would choose to share your life with?’_

It proved to be a good match, though, and together Ben and Mary raised a family of seven strapping children, each bright and shiny as a new penny and a credit to their parents.

Caleb hasn’t done too badly, either. He, too, followed up on his plans, becoming a blacksmith. Smithing was good, honest work and he soon got the hang of it, learning about different types of metal and firewood and tools and how to work the metal when it is at just the right temperature, with just the right touch. It was good business too, the whole country eager to build and expand after the war, demanding more goods and prosperity.

Over time, Caleb took on apprentices and smiths into his service and soon found he didn’t have enough things to do. As that coincided with his increased internal itch to get back on the water, he eventually joined the newly established Revenue Cutter Service and found himself back in the familiar territory of patrolling the seas and coves. He did not doubt that Ben’s and even Washington’s influence earned him the recommendation for the post, for which he is grateful.

The irony of the smuggler turning into a lawman is not lost on Caleb nor Ben, and he endures many a friendly ribbing from his lover on the matter. He always joins in the laugh, not minding it all, mostly thrilled to be back in the outdoors and on the water, where his soul feels most at peace.

Just as well, as there is not much peace at home – at least there wasn’t when all of his eight children were growing up and still living in the house. His and Anne’s, who has been his trusted partner and companion for all these years.

Caleb knows he is luckier than most men. His Anne is a good woman who endures no nonsense, and is kind and matronly – he couldn’t wish for a better life’s companion when the one he truly wants is out of his reach. Caleb loves his children dearly, and the little mites return the affection ten-fold, god bless their souls.

His and Ben’s arrangement, carefully planned over several months before the army finally disbanded, has worked like a charm. There never is more than a few months at most between their assignments, the places for them being wide and varied. Sometimes Caleb travels into Ben’s town, sometimes Ben to his, sometimes they meet in a place outside both of their domiciles, like this cottage or the other one near Milford Ben bought when he first came into some money. Once they even travelled together across the sea to visit old England, a trip most thrilling and memorable.

Their families are friends too – not exactly moving in the same social circles, since their lives and positions are too dissimilar, but as family friends. Thank god their wives get along, and since many of their children are the same age, they have collected a mountain of memories of family visits, picnics and holy days when the families have mingled.

Caleb named his fourth son Benjamin Nathaniel – for Sackett - and Ben’s youngest son is called Caleb Abraham. Maybe it is purely a coincidence, but their sons even resemble their namesakes: Caleb’s Ben is a studious young man and Ben’s Caleb a regular hell-raiser and a constant worry to his mother.

Yes, the years have been good, they have been happy – and hopefully, many more are still to come.

* * *

“About time, congressman.” Caleb grins and takes Ben’s satchel from his shoulder and points him towards the parlour. He will go and get his saddlebags later and take care of the horse. Caleb appreciates Ben wanting to come in to greet him first – but from the looks of it, Ben might also have simply wanted to sit down for a moment before attending to any further tasks.

The satchel is heavy and when Caleb glances at it, he sees it contains stacks of documents. He sighs. So, Ben has taken his work with him. Well, it was probably inevitable. Members of Parliament don’t have much free time – at least not ones as dutiful as Ben – so if losing his company for a few hours spent poring over some dry papers is the price he has to pay for the chance to have Ben here in the first place, so be it.

Besides, there is also the matter of his memoir – ‘ _Memoir of Col. Benjamin Tallmadge: His Years as Battle Commander in the American Revolutionary War’._ Initially it was just a ruse to allow them to spend time together under a good pretence, but over the years it has turned into reality. It is slow progress, but Ben has stated to everyone his intentions to collate and eventually publish his experiences during the war - and who better to help him in it than his trusted comrade in arms, Captain Caleb Brewster?

This allows them to spend several days together back in Setauket a few times a year, in the full knowledge of their families and friends. On these ‘official’ visits they also connect with Abe and his growing family, enjoying dinners and teas and sometimes – but not all the time – reminiscing about the old days. That Caleb stays with Ben in his father’s cottage raises no questions, and once Caleb even took extra care to invite Abe and Mary over, then took them upstairs on some pretense where they could glimpse at two separate bedrooms, both complete with Ben’s and Caleb’s things, respectively.

“Riding isn’t as easy as it used to be,” Ben grimaces, rubbing his back. “I should have taken a coach.”

“Nah, does good to remind your body every now and then that life is not all about sitting on your arse. Keeps you in shape.” Caleb throws the satchel on top of the desk in a small study next to the parlour and returns to see Ben sprawling on a sofa, looking every bit a man who has had his strength drained of him.

Caleb loves how Ben lets himself relax when they are together; no rigid statesman posture, no attentive bearing just for the sake of the appearance. If he feels like lolling his head back and groaning when his backside, stiffened by the long ride, hits the soft cushions of the sofa, he does just that, knowing that Caleb has seen him worse off.

“Here, have a drink. That’ll cheer you up.” Caleb hands Ben a stiff pour of whiskey thoughtfully poured in advance, which Ben receives gratefully. Ben tears his stock open and pulls it off, mumbling under his breath about the unbearable dust on the road that made his throat dry. Where Caleb would have tossed the thus removed stock on the floor, Ben, despite his wearied state, folds it neatly and places it on the small table.

Some things never change.

“How’s your cough?” Caleb sinks next to Ben and lifts his feet on the table. It’s so easy to fall back into step with Ben, continuing the discussion from where they left it almost as if the last… five? six? weeks haven’t gone by. Then they met in Caleb’s town and he didn’t like the sound of the dry cough Ben had developed before it.

Ben makes a light-hearted wave. “Gone. It was just a summer cold, as I told you at the time.”

 _“Sickness comes on horseback but departs on foot”_ , Caleb quotes. “You better take good care of yourself.”

To Ben’s raised eyebrow, he adds. “Anne says that a lot. Means that illness can come quickly but leave slowly.”

“I guessed what it means,” Ben grumbles. “And I _do_ take care of myself. Or rather, Mary does.”

“Poor woman. Such a thankless task.” Caleb makes light of it, but even during their days in the army he never liked how prone Ben was to getting over-exhausted when duty called. Maybe he better make sure that those papers stay in the satchel during this visit.

Deciding to move on – he doesn’t know a single man who is keen to discuss the state of their health any more than strictly necessary – Caleb changes the subject.

“What’s new in congress?”

Another non-committal wave. “The usual. Argument, petitions, accusations. Sometimes I wish I had stayed a postmaster. Less politics.”

“Don’t you start lying to me, Congressman Tallmadge. You love all that shite – and you are good at it.” Caleb digs his fingers at Ben’s side, which makes him yelp. “Christ, but you are stiff as a plank. I better give you a massage to loosen you up.”

As it happens, Caleb _can_ give a decent massage for aching muscles – but when it comes to Ben, it tends to be more than decent. Ben knows that and despite his weariness, his lips curl into a smile. Caleb chuckles. He loves to see Ben smile and takes every opportunity to make it happen, be it during their secret rendezvous’ or in more public settings.

“Later, Caleb, later. Let an old man breathe a bit.”

“Who’s an old man? I’m older than you and I am as sprightly as a spring chicken!”

Ben only laughs. They both know that the time for massage and more will come later.

* * *

The next morning Caleb wakes up first, the insistent ray of the sun teasing his eyelids. He turns, but can’t escape it, and eventually he gives up and opens his eyes. It is still early, the sun just above the horizon peeking through the gap in the curtains.

He yawns and stretches, careful not to wake Ben. His back is stiff, as usual in the morning before his muscles warm up. Getting old is a nuisance, and too many aches and pains remind him of past hurts and injuries. It is odd how the wounds that looked the most hideous at the time, like those inflicted by Simcoe, have healed and left behind only ugly scars but no deeper damage. But things he didn’t even register in his youth have returned to taunt him now: many nights slept on cold surfaces, sprained joints and old bullet wounds.

Still, Caleb counts himself lucky. He _lives_ and is mostly intact, all his body parts still in working order. Many of his friends didn’t get that.

More than that, he knows how many things he has to be grateful for. That, too, has become clearer for him over the years. Youth is impatient, insatiable, always wanting more. Mature age is counting one’s blessings and savouring what one has.

_Like him._

Caleb turns his head and looks at Ben, snoring lightly beside him. As always, these moments when he can watch Ben in peace, just _see_ him and savour him, are precious to Caleb.

Ben has always stayed clean-shaven but from the early morning scruff Caleb can see that the bristles in his jaw are turning grey. His hair is still brown, but on his temples are grey streaks, lines of which Caleb traces with his finger with affection. Well, he’s the last person to mind some grey, his own beard being more salt than pepper these days, and his hair is definitively turning into a greyer shade.

Ben’s features, however, haven’t changed. The same full bottom lip, the same noble line of his nose, high cheekbones.

_Jesus, you are still beautiful, Benny-boy._

Caleb doesn’t have a heart to wake Ben and so he goes downstairs silently, brews some strong tea and sips it while sitting on the back porch, watching the sun climb higher and higher, enjoying the peace surrounding the cottage. Eventually he cuts up some pie, adds more boiling water to the pot and carries his haul upstairs to see if Ben has woken up.

He has, squinting his eyes in the morning daze that Caleb knows so well and loves. He knows that as an ex-soldier, Ben can still wake up in a second and be sharp as a tack, if needed – but the fact that he takes his time to adjust to wakefulness, unhurriedly, is a sign that he is totally relaxed and trusting.

“Morning, sleepy-head!” Caleb exclaims from the door, manoeuvring the tray onto the side table on Ben’s side of the bed.

“Heavens, how late it is?” Ben yawns, glancing at the window and the sun, high in the sky. “I can’t remember when I last slept this late!”

“That’s why I didn’t wake you. You know what theBible says: _‘It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.’”_

Ben raises his eyebrow. “Do I hear right? Caleb Brewster quoting me Bible verses?”

Caleb chuckles. “I guess something gets stuck between my ears when I hear it often enough. Anne likes to tell them to our weans. Supposed to be good for character to quote the Bible to them. Only in moderation, of course.”

Ben reaches for the cup of tea Caleb hands him and rises to rest his back against the bed board.

“Caleb Brewster, a God-fearing man. Who’d had guessed.”

“Well, not really. But Him and I, we’re old mates.”

Ben blows onto his tea to cool it down. He looks thoughtful, a look that Caleb knows too well.

“What’s that, Ben? I can literally hear you thinking.” Caleb sits down on the bed and Ben scoots aside to make room for him.

“You know what? I believe so are we, God and I. It took me some time to understand it, with all this-“ he makes a vague gesture encompassing himself and Caleb, the room, the bed, “- but I genuinely believe that we are fine.”

Caleb sobers. He is well aware of the struggles Ben had with his conscience and faith when they first acknowledged their relationship for what it was.

“You are satisfied that this is not a sin and you won’t end up in Hell?”

Ben shrugs. “The Bible also says _‘A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another’._ ”

Caleb stews on it for a moment. What is love, if not this? All those doubts are in the past and behind them, any reservations cast aside, but it is nice to see how settled Ben is with the matter.

“Well, in that case I better clean up my ways, too. I’d hate to die and end up in hell for my many sins, and not see you anymore,” he japes.

“Hush, you are not going to die for a long time yet.”

“I might. It’s not exactly safe to chase all those mean smugglers. The stakes are getting higher and some of them are pretty ruthless.” If Caleb’s intent is to garner some sympathy from Ben, he's overshot, judging by the worried look on Ben’s face.

“Caleb, be careful. I couldn’t endure if anything happened to you.”

Caleb doesn’t know what makes him say what he does next, instead of brushing over Ben’s comment or treating it as a jest. Maybe it is the same concerns that have plagued him as well, the burden of advancing years and the inevitability of death. Whatever it is, he leans over and takes Ben’s free hand into his.

“We all die, one day. Being older than you _and_ living the life of adventure, I’ll likely go first. That’s just how life is.”

Ignoring Ben’s dismayed expression, he continues. “I know I’m a selfish bastard as always, but I’d rather go first than be left here without you. Sorry, Benny-boy, but I’m not sure I could take that.”

“How do you think I’ll be able to endure it any better?!” Ben huffs, his tea forgotten.

Caleb gives him a lopsided grin. “Because you are _you_. You rationalise it and you work your way through it and you just… you are stronger than I am. I – I’m all heart but you, you are brains.”

Ben doesn’t say anything for a long time, but eventually he sets the teacup down carefully, placing it on the tray, pushing it further away.

“It will be years away, you hear me, but you are right in one thing.” He lifts the corner of the bedcover and Caleb understands it for what it is: an invitation. “Whatever time we have on this earth, let us spend it well.”

* * *

When Caleb watches Ben’s back as he rides away after two more days, he thinks of his mortality again; his and Ben’s. They have had a good run, that much is true, and if all goes well, they might have many more years to come. Decades, even.

Years to be happy in their own lives, with their own families, careers, friends – and with each other.

After the last glimpse of Ben has disappeared behind the bushes, Caleb sighs and gets up. He better see about those spider webs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess I am curious to know how the notion of these two as much older and still in love is received… So if you would like to share your thoughts, please let me know! Also, come say hi in my revamped Turn side-blog [ladytp-annex](https://ladytp-annex.tumblr.com/)!


	6. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In the previous chapter:** Ben and Caleb meet once again in one of their regular meeting places, Ben’s cottage in Setauket, like so many times before in so many places. Their plan to continue their relationship has worked well despite both having married good women and raised a brood of children of their own. Ben is a distinguished congressman and Caleb is back on water after successful blacksmithing career. Their love is strong and enduring and even Ben has made peace with his conscience and God. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit sad chapter - but fear not, not all is lost, as you can see from the pre-dialogue… 
> 
> Thank you again, [Lucyemers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers) for betaing!

“As God is my witness, Caleb, you broke my heart then.”

“I am so sorry about that, Benny-boy – but in fairness, I broke my _own_ heart first. Literally.”

“Why did you have to rush ahead and leave me behind? Like you always did.”

“I warned you, didn’t I?”

“I…I…”

“I know, and I am heartily sorry. I wish we could have left together – but you still had things to do. So I waited.”

“I _did_ have things to finish – but even if it may sound strange, I’m glad I’m finally here. With you.”

“Me too. And we’ll never be parted now.”

“Never.”

****

**_Ben_ **

**It is autumn when Ben farewells Caleb.**

Ben stares at the simple stone in front of him, reading the text for the hundredth time.

_In memory of Captain CALEB BREWSTER_

_who died February 13th, 1827; aged 79 years_

_He was a brave and active officer of the Revolution_

A few scant lines – surely this can’t be the summation of a man’s life?

Especially of a man like Caleb: larger than life, courageous, fearless, strong. _Beloved._

Ben is alone, the rest of the mourners having already escaped the cold wind blowing across the sound, bringing with it the first inclination of winter. He doesn’t feel cold, nor sense the gradual stiffening of his joints, always brought upon by chilly winds. He doesn’t register the tips of his ears getting red, cold gnawing at them.

Ben feels nothing at all – he is numb.

Naturally he had always known that it was just a matter of time – especially after the scare Caleb gave the previous year with the way his heart seemed to give up on him. Ironic, really, being that Caleb was always the one of them with the bigger heart. Or maybe that was exactly why it waned. It was so big, it contained multitudes – it carried so much. Memories, love, affection, _everything_.

Ben corrects himself: _had carried._

He still can’t think Caleb is truly gone. Of course he had to be the one to leave first – not because of his older age, but because he was always the one who rushed ahead, leaving Ben in his dust.

_Oh, Caleb._

* * *

After his wife’s death, Caleb insisted on moving back to Setauket despite his children’s requests to stay with them. There had been no reason for the move, really, as far as anyone could see, but Caleb had set his heart on it and so it had happened.

He bought a small cottage by the water, just big enough for his room and a few guestrooms, and it was a testament to his good relationship with his offspring that those rooms were filled time and time again with one or more of Caleb’s children or his grandchildren visiting him.

By that time Ben had married Maria after losing his beloved Mary, all his children had left his house and he felt safe enough to visit Caleb openly, many times a year. There were no more reasons to hide, as for two old war comrades to spend time together in their twilight years raised no questions. People probably believed them spending their time looking back and talking about their glory years, knowing only they – and a very few others – could relate to those hard but also exciting times of the birth of their nation.

That older people were still capable of love and emotion was usually an alien concept to young ones, thus raising the frequency of the visits above any suspicions whatsoever. However, the notion was so odd to Ben he often had to shake his head in the face of it. It didn’t matter that their skin was wrinkled, their hair and beard grey, their eyes and joints having lost the agility of the youth - their minds were sharp and their passions still ran deep. Maybe not manifested physically as strongly as before, but emotionally even more so.

And which one of those truly matters, when it comes to love?

* * *

Ben last saw Caleb only a month ago towards the end of the summer. Caleb was fine then – as fine as a man approaching his four score of years could be expected to be. His shoulders were hunched and his steps were slow, but his eyes had the same mischievous streak they had always had, and the wide grin on his face was even more pronounced due to deepening of his wrinkles.

They had sat on Caleb’s porch late into the night, and watched twilight descending. As so often, there was no need to talk; they understood each other from a gesture, from a grunt, from a half-executed motion.

“Are you happy, Caleb?” Ben had asked, still not quite sure what prompted him to say it. Maybe it was the beauty of nature surrounding them or the discussion they had had earlier in the day about Ben’s youngest son and his dramatic announcement about how he was going to be the unhappiest man in the whole wide world if he didn’t get to marry the woman of his dreams. Ben had related the story to Caleb’s eye rolls and chuckles, but it had made him think about the nature of happiness.

“Benny-boy, I had a good wife, I have the best sons and daughters in the world, I am still in control of my faculties. And I have you. Of course I’m happy.” Caleb had turned to Ben and smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

Ben had considered him for a moment and concluded that yes, according to those criteria – and what others use to judge a man’s happiness? – he was happy, too. Having established that, they had stayed up for a little while longer, then retired to Caleb’s bed. As hundreds of nights before, Ben had fallen asleep with his limbs entwined with Caleb’s, his head resting against Caleb’s shoulder, the sound of Caleb’s heartbeat his lullaby, and he had slept soundly until the morning.

Then Ben had left, promising to be back before the end of autumn.

And here he is.

* * *

Ben finally turns, throws a last look across the gravestone, his gaze flitting over the empty spot beside it. A bit further away, at the Woodhull family plot, is Abe’s grave. He passed away the previous year, and Ben has already paid his respect to his old friend.

Only when retreating from the windy hill does Ben realise how deep into his bones the cold extends.

He attends the funeral reception and politely addresses everyone bold enough to approach the well-known congressman. Most of Caleb’s children are there, and Ben mutters his condolences to them, knowing they understand the depth of their shared sorrow.

“It was so kind of you to attend, Congressman Tallmadge,” Caleb’s oldest daughter Sarah tells Ben, her many shed tears still obvious from the red of her eyes. “I know my father always counted you as the closest of his friends. That you continued to visit him all these years, even since he moved back here, meant so much to him, and us…” She can’t continue, the emotions overtaking her.

Ben assures her it was his honour and privilege to be a friend to such a remarkable man as Captain Brewster was, and thus comforted, Sarah moves on, escorted by her husband.

Ben looks across the room at all the men, women and children, ranging from a few years old to bright-eyed youths, many of them in one way or another associated with Caleb and his offspring. His mind flits to his own children and grandchildren. Had he and Caleb followed through with their outlandish plans at the end of the war: had they run away together to the west or to the south, none of them would have been born.

What would have happened to them, the two foolish youths in love?

* * *

Ben stays in his cottage for the night. The housekeeper has left him a beef stew in the kitchen, the fire is burning in the fireplace, and the bedding is clean and crisp. Ben hadn’t been sure if he was going to be strong enough to go through it, the house being so full of memories, but it was a practical thing to do before returning to his home the next day.

In the bedroom closet, he finds an old shirt Caleb left behind the last time they stayed there before he acquired the house of his own. It is frayed at the sleeves and collar – which is probably why Caleb had left it, to wear it when mucking around the house attending to the minor fixes an old house like that required.

Ben clutches the shirt in his hand, his knuckles turning white. He lifts it to his face and breathes in deeply, trying to trace any scent of Caleb remaining – but finds none, since the shirt has sat in the closet for a few years. There is an ache in his chest, a hollowness that grows and grows until he feels he will shatter like glass. Still holding on to the shirt, Ben goes downstairs to eat, then grabs a half-empty bottle of whiskey and nurses it in the parlour.

He stares into the fire, sips the amber liquid and as the evening goes on, the memories _do_ assault him – but the experience is bittersweet instead of being pure torture, as he had been afraid of.

He remembers the first time they came here together, not long after the war and before either of them had married. He recalls the blessing and luxury of being able to be together so freely, share the bed for the whole night in the surety that they wouldn’t be interrupted and that neither of them had to sneak in or out in secrecy. This little cottage was their safe haven and inside it, behind closed doors and drawn curtains, anything could happen and everything was allowed. He remembers the joy of being together again, but also the heart-breaking sorrow of departing.

He remembers the time when they celebrated the birth of their first children, born in the same year. The experience was new to them both and the responsibilities of a father so alien and strange. Caleb got roaring drunk , gushing to Ben about how it was even possible that such a tiny creature could be _his_ , a fruit of _his_ loins. That night ended with Caleb passing out against Ben’s shoulder, drooling all over his best shirt, Ben not having the heart to move him away.

He remembers one autumn when Caleb had had some financial difficulties; only temporary, due to a big order for his smithy having been lost. Ben offered to give him the money and Caleb of course declined, and their argument had proceeded from verbal to physical, with Caleb wrestling Ben to the ground in defence of his pride. Eventually Ben had yielded, the sweet surrender after a heated scuffle leading to one of the most memorable nights of their lives.

Hours tick by, the fire dwindles into embers. Ben is by no means drunk, but the overwhelming exhaustion and pressure that has built over the last several days, since he first received the news of Caleb’s passing, finally take their toll. He didn’t cry at the news as that was not what men like him did. He was stunned, he mourned, he grieved – but he didn’t shed a tear.

Yet on that cool autumn night, holding the shirt of his beloved against his chest, Benjamin Tallmadge breaks down and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million apologies for any sadness this chapter may have caused. However, sometimes to experience sadness in the safety of fiction is a beautiful and cathartic experience... But sill, do forgive me! 😔 
> 
> Do let me know thought on this fic and come say hi in my Turn side-blog [ladytp-annex](https://ladytp-annex.tumblr.com/)!


	7. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In the previous chapter:** Ben is numb. Just as he promised a month ago, he has returned to Setauket, where Caleb moved in his old age – but not to see his lover, but to attend his funeral. It is a bleak affair and afterwards, Ben spends the night in his – in their – cottage. He fears that memories of their shared past there will torture him – and they do. Yet they bring with them not only pain, but also bittersweet and loving feelings. At the end of the night, the stoic, strong and dignified Benjamin Tallmadge finally breaks down and cries for his lost love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, then, the end… Over the last seven weeks I have lived and loved these two, and delighted in and cursed at this challenge that I took upon myself – and finishing it, I hope that this has brought some enjoyment to those who have read this.  
> And by now you have surely figured out what the dialogues at the beginning of each chapter signify - our heroes in the great beyond, wherever that is... happily ever after!  
> I couldn’t have done this without the help from my wonderful beta [Lucyemers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers) \- thank you so much once again!

“So Annie knew, all that time? What a smart girl!”

“She was always cleverer than what we gave her credit for, I’m ashamed to admit.”

“I am touched that you joined me in Setauket, in the end. Must have been quite a skirmish to get that through.”

“I told my family that my deepest connections tie me to Setauket and I could rest in peace only there. They thought I meant my parents and grandparents – but you know better, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. Maybe it doesn’t matter so much in the end, as we both are here now – but still. It’s a nice touch. Side by side again – though I’d preferred you on top of me.”

 _“That_ might have been harder to explain...”

“So what now? We've seen our life as it happened, what next?”

“We’ll make new memories here, I guess.”

“Right-on – lead the way, Tallboy!”

**It is autumn when Ben and Caleb are united**

_**Anna** _

Anna rests her weight on Selah’s arm, her hip refusing to carry its fair share. She shouldn’t have insisted on walking up the church hill, but she wanted to see the view: the fields, the trees, and the sight of the village behind him getting smaller as they ascend towards the church.

Selah doesn’t complain, only secures his hold, and for that Anna is grateful.

Theirs isn’t a bad marriage. When they were younger, she helped Selah in his duties and he let her do pretty much what she wanted. Their children are a blessing and to her relief, Anna hasn’t lost a single one to childhood illnesses or accidents, as so many others have.

She has good friends too; mostly women, but possibly because of her years with The Ring and in the army, she never shied away from forming friendships with men either – if the man was worthy.

And today she is here, saying her goodbyes to not one, but two of such worthy gentlemen.

Anna’s lips curl into a smile. Caleb would turn in his grave to hear himself being called ‘gentleman’. Well, let him!

“I still don’t understand why Ben insisted on being buried here. He made his name on the mainland and lived there for decades. Why Setauket?” Selah murmurs into Anna’s ear, so low that only she can hear him. The minister is still talking, although the ceremony seems to be nearing completion.

“He was born here and his parents are buried here. Isn’t that enough?” she whispers back.

Selah grunts but lets the matter drop, focussing his attention back on the minister.

Anna looks at the handsome memorial around which the group has gathered. It is wide and high, a proper monument, a symbol of the importance of the person buried underneath it. She understands Selah’s curiosity - she has already heard a few other guests wondering about the same thing: why Setauket?

She also heard that it was Ben’s wish, specifically dictated in his last will, and as much as his family wanted him to be buried in their town, there was nothing they could do about it. Apparently in some kind of a compromise, the family erected a memorial stone to him there instead, his mortal body being brought here.

Anna massages her hip through her clothes, shifting her stance, trying to find a more comfortable position.

 _She_ knows exactly why Ben wanted to be buried here – but she has no intention of sharing that knowledge with anyone. She has protected their secret for so many years and she won’t give it up now.

Anna’s gaze moves towards the grave and the modest tombstone next to Ben’s.

**_In memory of Captain CALEB BREWSTER_ **

* * *

They never realised that Anna knew.

It hadn’t been obvious, but after observing them from close quarters as she did, and putting together all the little signs: looks, touches and the subtle signals they gave each other, it had all fallen into place.

_Oh, Ben. Oh, Caleb._

Her first thought had been fear. What if they got caught? The army didn’t look kindly on men like them and the punishment would be swift and brutal.

Yet they were careful. Although Anna had discovered their secret, she thought it highly unlikely that anyone else would. Nobody else had known them since they were boys, running around in their doublets and shirtsleeves, and nobody else worked as closely with them as she did for The Ring.

After a while Anna’s anxieties lessened. Nobody paid any attention to Ben and Caleb’s closeness, accepting it as part of their close working relationship and shared childhood. Only she catalogued the late nights in Ben’s tent, the scouting missions they did together and their preference for working only with each other, resisting attempts to add more members to their small group of operatives in the camp.

Anna was part of it, of course. The connection they shared was more than dedication to the cause, more than ordinary friendship. Anna would have loved to tell them that she knew but didn’t judge and that even if their bond was an abhorrence in the eyes of society, she understood. Hadn’t she bucked against the common decency herself with her illicit affair with a married man? Who was she to throw the first stone?

Yet Anna knew that unless Ben and Caleb specifically took her into their confidence, it was better to let them be. Had she revealed that she had figured it out purely by observation, it would have put them under tremendous stress lest they thought others could do the same. Anna couldn’t do that to them, couldn't put them under any more pressure than what they must have been experiencing already with their forbidden affair. Secrets are best kept when fewer people know them - wasn’t that the basis of their whole operation?

It didn’t mean that Anna wouldn’t have looked out for them, and even interfered on a few occasions when she thought it was warranted.

Once on her way from the central store to her cart late at night, she had noticed a courier walking towards Ben’s tent. The camp was supposed to be asleep by then, but the man must have been on some urgent errand. Anna had frozen, remembering catching a glimpse of Caleb sneaking nearby earlier. What would the messenger hear if he stood outside Ben’s tent? What would he see if he demanded Ben open the flap to receive the message?

Anna had dropped her bundle and rushed to the man, shouted to get his attention and asked him questions, rambling in a loud voice about approaching reinforcements or some such. The messenger had looked at her as if she was out of her mind, but having clearly been well-raised, had replied to her politely.

Ben had heard them and opened the tent flap to see what the fuss was about. He had closed it quickly behind him, but in the brief moment when it had been open, Anna had seen from her vantage point Caleb sitting upright in Ben’s bed. His shirt had been undone, Ben’s hair had escaped from his usually neat queue and his stock was gone. The proof of what they had been up to made Anna blush and she averted her eyes. Ben had quickly taken control of the situation and Anna had mumbled her good nights and disappeared as quickly as she had arrived, counting her blessings that she had been there at just the right time.

On another occasion, Caleb had returned from scouting with a bullet wound in his side after a minor skirmish with loyalists. The wound hadn’t been that bad after it had been attended to and cleaned, but initially it had looked serious: Caleb slumped on his horse, pale as death, blood drenching his shirt.

Anna had seen Ben running towards Caleb with a mad gleam in his eyes and heard him shouting panicky commands. For the composed, always calm and collected Major Tallmadge losing control of himself didn’t do – it didn’t do at all! Ben had obviously not been in the proper frame of mind to hear reason, so Anna had assessed the situation and not knowing what else to do, had run into the middle of the commotion, let out a most unladylike shriek and pretended to faint right at Ben’s feet.

Ben had been forced to divert some of his attention to Anna, and while he had dragged her rather forcefully out of his way, the army doctor alerted to the site was already attending to Caleb. Soon enough he had judged Caleb’s wound not to be life-threatening – and Ben’s terror had subsided and he had regained his self-control.

Yes, she had done all she could do to protect her friends and would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

* * *

Anna and Selah had kept in touch with Ben and Caleb over the years, mostly by correspondence. Ben’s letters were always eloquent and long, often touching on political matters so important to all of them, whereas Caleb’s brief and intermittent missives were littered with observations and musings that painted a vivid picture of his and his family’s life. Anna reciprocated with news of her own family, Selah’s work and her own interests. As infrequent as those correspondences were, they were enough to maintain the links between the families.

The last time she saw them had been about 15 years ago when she and Selah paid a visit to Ben. As it happened, Caleb was there too, doing some business or other in the city. He had engulfed Anna into a bear hug just like old times, and his roaring laughter and wide grin had taken Anna back years and years, far longer back than she cared to admit. She had hugged him in return and laughed and cried while Selah had grinned at the sight - only to be accosted by Caleb next.

They had spent a wonderful evening together over a sumptuous dinner hosted by Ben’s wife Mary, the table laden with delicacies they couldn’t have even dreamt of during those lean years in the army camp. No drinks were spared, no toast was left unraised, not a jape was left unsaid – it had been a magical night indeed.

Anna had heard that Caleb visited the Tallmadges often, mostly alone but sometimes with his family. She had also heard about Ben’s frequent visits to Setauket and his memoirs that Caleb had helped him with. It hadn’t been hard for her to put two and two together - and if that hadn’t been enough, she also observed some of those old gestures, subtle signs and easy familiarities between the two. Nothing too obvious or blatant – her friends were much too experienced for such amateurish mistakes. Yet an unconscious leaning into the same space, a mirroring gesture, a light in their eyes when they saw each other, accidental brush of shoulder or knee…alone none of them would have warranted any merit, but combined - and Anna knowing what she did - she soon was sure that their relationship had not only endured but if possible, strengthened.

The notion comforted her; the assurance that sometimes true love _did_ last, even such an uncommon love.

For a moment she had been tempted to finally share with them what she knew – but in the end, had decided against it. It was still their secret and theirs alone, and she would have been an intruder in their little world. If she could only bask in its warmth from afar, then so be it.

* * *

The ceremony at the churchyard ends and the big congregation of mourners files into the new church hall. Anna and Selah are greeted by Ben’s children and grandchildren, who know about their connection with Ben, although in Anna’s case, probably not all of it. Ben had always insisted on the secrecy of The Ring even after the war, and Anna has gone along with it. She never did it for fame or fortune anyway, but because it was the right thing to do. As long as she knows what she did, that is enough.

The speeches that follow are long and the eulogies for the departed hero keep on coming, one after another. Anna gets restless after a while and excuses herself, leaving Selah behind and stepping out for a breath of fresh air. Twilight has fallen and only the outlines of the villages are visible. The waters of the sound glimmer in the distance and wind whistles in the trees.

She walks slowly among the gravestones, reading familiar names engraved on them and stopping for a moment at Abe’s grave. It is well-maintained, grass neatly cut and a low shrub of flowering thyme surrounding the stone. Anna touches it and feels its smoothness under her fingers. Like it, the memories of past passions and turmoil have been smoothed by passing of time, and all she feels is affection and warmth towards the man who was the sweetheart of her youth and with whom she once shared a passionate affair.

 _Sleep well, Abe,_ she whispers and moves on.

Finally Anna’s steps take her back to Ben’s grave, where she stands between his and Caleb’s monuments.

She lowers her head for private prayer, just for Ben and Caleb. Not one to be read out loud, but one whispered into the quiet of the night, from the depth of her heart to two men who loved each other - and her, in their own way.

Anna raises her head and takes one more look at the sombre tomes and the letters engraved in them, humble human contraptions that could never capture the spirits of the men they so poorly attempt to describe.

She turns around and looks across the sound, not seeing the gently sloping hills nor the deep waters glimmering in the dusk – but two young soldiers, one clad in blue and gold, the other in scuffed leather, riding together towards the sunset.

_Fare thee well, my sweet soldiers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following this fic to its bittersweet end!
> 
> Writing is a funny business. It can be done for a living as many published authors do. It can be done for satisfying that burning itch for self-expression that some people have. It can be done to fulfil a yearning to make a story happen just for oneself, one that hasn't been written - and this kind can also be only day-dreamed or imagined, not necessarily written. And it can be done for the love of the story and characters and fandom, with a specific purpose of sharing and interacting over one’s writing with likeminded people; with those who share that love. Fanfic is often of the last kind, and part of writing this story for me has certainly been about that; connecting with people, sharing the love we have for the canon.
> 
> Hearing from you, dear readers, would be a wonderful encouragement to continue in this vein, so if you would like to at all share your thoughts about this fic, please let me know in a comment... 🙂 Also, come and say hi in my Turn side-blog [ladytp-annex](https://ladytp-annex.tumblr.com/) for more connections, if you feel like it!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Seven Seasons of Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29888064) by [LadyTP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTP/pseuds/LadyTP)




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